


Grey

by Subtlemagic



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dark, F/F, Hopeful Ending, Like 50 shades of morally grey, M/M, Morally Grey Characters, Nazi Allegories, Tragedy, WIP, and I am very slow, anti-fluff, dark!characters, explicit violence, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:52:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4950754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subtlemagic/pseuds/Subtlemagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Uther’s reign, prophecy and tragedy had led to the ban on magic; a tragic sickness and a dangerous threat. All magic abusers, from powerful sorcerers to little hedge mages, were being taken into rehabilitation. No member of the public ever saw the inside, and no patient ever come out.</p><p>Arthur is put in charge of Uther’s personal guard the KRT, but the things he sees changes him. One day he finds Merlin, a member of a group of militant freedom fighters who will do anything to see change made. Through Merlin’s eyes he sees the lines between what is right and what is wrong blurring, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2010

**Author's Note:**

> For both Arthur and Merlin, secrets are revealed, with devastating consequences.

“Come on,” she whispered, soft elegant fingers brushed the golden tendrils of hair off his forehead, “You’ve got to feel it too. There’s something more than just friendship between us. It goes deeper than that. Can we try it at least?”

Arthur was sixteen and had been in a perpetual state of horniness for about two years. He didn’t need persuading. Soft warm curves pressed up against his body in a way he was sure would get him into deep trouble. A boy of his standing wasn’t supposed to go around sowing wild oats, just in case, but this _was_ different. Sappy as it was, he felt something _different_ between them too. She was different to any other court lady. He had no idea why, but it was true.

“I’m there already if you are,” he whispered his hands down her grey satin dress, resting on her warm hips. “Whatever you want.”

The fingers had stopped playing with his fringe and trailed down his face. Hands held his jaw, the intent was non-verbal, but clear as a day. The fingers coaxed him forward to the first press against blush crimson lips.

From there it was a lot less gentle and a lot less sophisticated. She was hardly his first kiss, the title of Crown Prince of England brought with it a certain level of innate ‘game’, but this kiss was definitely the most intense. Hands pulled behind his neck, craning his head as close as possible so that the inelegant movement of lips against lips was heightened by the most amazing pressure. He gripped her hips through the tight dress, carefully not to damage or bruise, but encouraging their bodies to plaster together.

“Too fucking vertical.” She grunted, rough against his parted mouth.

“Does your etiquette instructor know that his finest pupil talks like that?”

“Shut the fuck up,” she offered, with no malice, only a coarseness that sent a delicious shiver down his spine as he pulled, or was pushed, backwards towards the sofa.

She hitched up her dress, and straddled his lap. Arthur drowning in the candlelight that flickered in her deep green eyes. The contact between them was minimal, but the stuff of every teenage boy’s dreams. She hovered over him, before pressing short hard kisses to his lips.

“I thought you said that we were too vertical.” He offered as his only warning before cradling her head and back to flip her down onto the seat.

“That’s better,” she grinned easy, hitching one knee up to his hip, settling him between her legs. There was too much stimulation for his hormone addled brain to think of anything except bending down to haphazardly press lips once more.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Arthurs head snapped up immediately as he was bodily thrown off the sofa. “Father…” he tried to begin, barely registering the bruising sure to form. It can’t have been _that_ bad to be fool about a bit. She was a lady of good standing, hardly some unsuitable person. A relationship with her might not be strategic, but it was surely _acceptable_ and _…_

The curtains were on fire. When had that happened? He was frozen.

“Get out,” Uther roared,

“Yeah,” He said, realising from where Uther’s panic had stemmed, “Come on, we need to get help.” He reached out a hand to her, still laying dishevelled on the sofa, eyes wide, shaking, barely breathing.

“ _Just_ you.” Uther said, pointing to the door. “Take him to my office.” Arthur barely had time to register the words before his was removed bodily by Uther’s personal KRT.

The door slammed, and he could hear the crazed words being screamed desperately behind the heavy oak. Tight chested shaking sobs broke every plea.

“No, please! I’ll do anything! Don’t take me there! Please god, no! Arthur, help me!”

Arthur was helpless to do anything but watch the door move further and further away. He heard less and less with every inch that separated them. Unable to block out the sounds or make sense of them he was left with the begging ringing in his ears.

The door to Uther’s office slammed shut, creating an eerie echo of silence. After a few infinite minutes the door opened once more behind him. A silent gesture from Uther dismissed the KRT and Arthur was left alone with his father for the first time since last Christmas.

“What did we do wrong?” Arthur began terse and angry, “She ticks every box for the perfect princess consort and I actually _like her._ So what the hell did she do wrong? Because if _she_ doesn’t live up you your standards then I’m going to die alone.”

“Arthur,” Uther interrupted wearily, “Arthur I…”

“No!” Arthur exclaimed, “What gave you the right to act like some kind of dad who takes an interest in my love life, I barely even _see_ you and now…”

“Morgana’s your sister, Arthur.”

The silence was so immediate that Arthur could _hear_ his own heart in his chest.

“You’re lying. That’s not possible, Mum _died._ She’s younger than me.”

“Ygraine is not her mother. She’s your half-sister. I hadn’t wanted to tell you like this. I was going to sit you down together when you were eighteen and have a proper talk. But I hadn’t imagined…”

Bile was burning its way up Arthur’s throat, but he wouldn’t be sick. He refused to treat himself or his _sister_ so poorly by doing something so indignant. He bit it back with even breaths.

“She’s ten months younger than me.” Arthur’s voice full of revelation. “Ten months almost exactly. What did mum’s funeral seem like a particularly good time to be getting off with Lady Lafay? She was married by that point.” Accusations and realisations tumbled forth, one after another. “You were already having an affair with her weren’t you? Whilst mum was still pregnant. You said you loved her. You were cheating on her with some married woman. I bet you were ecstatic when Lady Lafay got divorced.”

“Arthur, your relationship between your mother and I was always complex, but do not doubt that I loved her dearly.”

“And what of Morgana? She’s the shameful illegitimate child you would hide away as a spare just in case I get offed or what? Why did you keep us around each other and not _tell_ us? Where is she now? Have you told _her_ about this?” Arthur voice was louder and more broken with every word.

“She has been taken somewhere for her own safety, the media will have a field day if you speak of this to _anyone_. You may not see her again. Make your peace with it.”

Uther left, leaving Arthur with a million shattered thoughts swirling around his head, and the one unasked question; how had he not noticed the fire?

~*~

“Lovely to see you again, Hunith.” A voice came from the door. Merlin recognised the voice, but couldn’t see who it came from.

Merlin couldn’t see a damn thing. It was good that he was little for his age, because the panel in the floor was not going to big enough to hide him soon. He wanted to use the magic to see. He wanted to grope beyond the pitch dark and try to feel who it was, but that was stupid, dangerous even.

“And you, as always.” His mother’s voice soothed him in his protective prison, “It’s always nice to see a friendly face.”

“Talking of,” the other woman replied chirpily, “There seem to be some new men in town.”

 _New men, the KRT._ They’d come this far west finally, terribly.

“I thought you might want to come along to the bake sale, I know you haven’t had time recently, but it’s always nice to make new friends.”

_New friends, not friendly, they’re clearing out anyone with magic._

“Old man Greg has been saying quite horrible things about your boy, Merlin. It’s so terrible of him to bring up such painful memories when everyone in the village knows of his tragic passing.”

_Greg had sold him out, he had less than an hour to escape._

“When’s the bake sale.” Hunith asked politely as possible.

There was a pause, the swishing of curtains, “Fairly soon, but you’ll definitely have enough time to rustle something up I’m sure.”

“Thank you so much for dropping by, I’ll definitely bring something.” Hunith sounded chirpy but Merlin wasn’t fooled.

As soon as the front door closed, there was a rush of movement from inside the house, curtains were drawn and things were flung open. A nine rhythmic knocks on the cupboard door and Merlin knew to shimmy out.

“Practice run?” Merlin whispered softly as possible, but he could see the tears pouring in tracks down his mother’s face. This was real.

“I love you _so much_. Do you hear me? I love you above everything.”

“I love you too.” There wasn’t time for the clinging hug he wanted to give.

He had the emergency bag packed, a few essential items had been thrown in behind it. His hacked phone and enough currency to get to anywhere in England and he would survive for now, but a fake passport had been almost impossible to come by. They didn’t have enough money anywhere to get Merlin out of the country.

Any photos of Merlin beyond the age of seven were being hidden away from view to be burned no doubt. Death certificates had been forged a long time ago, when it was obvious beyond a shadow of a doubt that magic use was not a phase Merlin would ever grow out of.

When the first purge had happened, it was only those high profile magic users who were taken. The Last Great Dragonlord was certainly high profile. They didn’t know of his family, nor did he tell them, but over time Uther and the KRT became more and more paranoid, ‘rehabilitating’ innocent people for smaller and smaller uses of magic.

They knew this time would come. They had planned for it. Merlin didn’t know whether his father was alive or not, but he had never come back. He refused force his mother to share his father’s fate.

The whole house smelled of magic, Merlin couldn’t help it; his own magic was a beacon to anyone who was able to spot it. He only wished he had had the training he needed to hide, but there was no-one left to train young warlocks. Except perhaps one.

The bleach drenched blanket, grey with age, would hide the smell from the dogs for long enough to get away from the main village. If he could escape to the forest then he could camp out for long enough to plan a safe route to Camelot. It was the most dangerous place he could possibly be, but also the only place where he could learn what he needed to do to stay hidden.

“Gaius.” Hunith repeated the name, ensuring that Merlin was _certain_ of it. Certain of his only chance at survival out in the open world, away from the controlled environment of home.

His mother was already scrubbing the tables of his fingerprints, but he knew it wouldn’t help. Everything in here was infused with a layer of magic from years and years of stupid mistakes.

“I love you.” He whispered and then ran out the back door as fast as he could.

He had barely a moment to lose, as one quick glance behind him as he crested the hill and he could see half a dozen armed men at the front door. His one advantage was that he knew this place like the back of his hand. He couldn’t outrun them, at only eleven his wild magic couldn’t fight them. The only thing he could do was hide.

“We know that you’re hiding someone!” he could hear them declare, “It is a terrorist act to conceal a magic abuser from the authorities.” His mother’s voice couldn’t be heard, but he knew that they could search that house high and low, and not a single trace of him would be found. Except for his stupid magic. There was nothing he hated more. There was nothing he needed more in that moment.

“Please,” he whispered to it, whatever it was “Don’t let them find me, don’t let them hurt her, keep us safe.”

 _Run_. The magic whispered in turn.

So he ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after my last angst ridden WIP it’s time for a light fluffy one-shot right? Wrong. So, so wrong.
> 
> I'm sorry.


	2. 1994/1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tragedy of beginnings.
> 
> Warning: canonical character death, blood.

“You’re looking as radiant as ever, Ygraine.”

“And you’re too kind as always, Nimueh. I’m as aware as the next person that I look like a beached whale. I can’t go to the seaside anymore in the highly likely event that a group of marine biologists try to start a rescue mission.”

Nimueh shook her head, crimson smile pulling at her lips. Ygraine had always appreciated that smile, so Nimueh tried to give it even when it seemed the most difficult task in the world. “Always so hard on yourself, you are simply beautiful. A touch of pregnancy wouldn’t ever change that.”

“Never in my life have I heard a person say ‘a touch of pregnancy,’. You make it sound like the common cold!”

Ygraine studied Nimueh’s face carefully after that, “You’re worried about something. You’re far too easy to read.”

“I’m always worried when it comes to you.” She said in earnest “This pregnancy hasn’t been easy on you, and whilst you’re well now. I still remember a time where you were hospitalised with morning sickness. That’s not normal.”

Ygraine placed a motherly hand on Nimueh’s shoulders, that wasn’t a side effect of the pregnancy; she had always been the most caring soul the world could fathom. “Don’t worry, little love.” She smiled, “I’m strong.”

“Strong and well are not the same thing.”

Ygraine laughed, “You’re supposed to say I’m positively glowing with vitality.”

Nimueh looked closely, she could see vitality, but as Ygraine’s child grew strong, she could see Ygraine herself grow weak and weary. She should have never tried to help, it had been foolish. She was trying her very best to keep everything in balance, but it was becoming harder and harder to keep control of the situation. Her silence betrayed more than she wished.

“So, might I ask then?” Ygraine said, delivering herself somewhat less than gracefully into her seat, “Why is it you grace me with your presence? You can pretend you’re agitated due to my condition as much as you want, but it’s full clear that there must be another reason. What is it that’s happened?”

Nimueh knelt down by Ygraine’s feet, “I do not wish to cause you more distress,”

“I am far from distressed, though you continue to insist otherwise,”

“Your body is in distress, anyone who cared to look closely can see it. You’re choosing to ignore it.”

“Uther does not seem to think it so,” Ygraine questioned, surely she had to know.

Nimueh bit her lip so hard she thought she might draw blood, “Then clearly Uther does not care to look closely. I am fearful of what is happening to you. And Uther…” She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth.

“Uther is having continued affairs with many members of the court including, perhaps especially, the lady LaFay. With whom he had had a long standing affair before he had ever met me.”

Nimueh stared in shock, mouth agape. She had expected tears, denial, shock. Perhaps she had expected reluctant acceptance, but Ygraine’s blatant knowledge of what was happening between her husband and the ladies at court was not what she expected.

“Uther has been in love with the Lady LaFay for years, since they were children. By the time he had wanted to suggest her as a suitable queen consort, she had already been betrothed to another. You know what we noble women are like; barely better than cattle. He knew that even if she divorced his father would never have allowed the two of them to marry, so when his mother had offered me as suggestion of a nice _pure_ virginal noblewomen, he knew there really was no option.”

“And Uther expects you to live with this? A life like this of carrying his sons whilst he does whatever he wants with whomever he wants.”

“I adore you for your righteous indignation, little love.” She smiled, running a hand through Nimueh’s jet black hair, “We hardly went into our marriage blind. For me it was freedom from the expectation of having regular sex with whomever I was married off to, and he had a friend and confidant a shield to protect him from his parent’s piercing gaze.”

“A marriage without love? Without even entertaining love?” Every word was selfish, and she hated herself for them, but she had to know, to understand.

“Who said we do not love each other? We love each other dearly, we hold one another at night and we are free to be ourselves. We are tied Uther and I, as the dearest of friends. We are lovers of convenience, perhaps. An heir was always going be required but our marriage is open and honest. I am as freed by it as he is, there is more love in our marriage than most people’s, I would say. And every day I come closer to being a mother, something I had resigned myself to never be.”

Nimueh was buoyed for a moment by some strange unspeakable hope, though with barely another glimpse up she was swiftly reminded that Ygraine would not be long for this world if Nimueh did nothing about it.

“Look at yourself, Ygraine. Look at how pale you are, look at how immobilised. How can you call this state one of freedom? You’re tied down by this pregnancy. Uther seems to get far more out of this arrangement than you.”

“You may not see it, but I have those who love me dearly. You love me don’t you? I simply find other relationships more satisfying than the ones Uther seeks. I’m happy to be a mother, happy to be a wife without obligation. I am secure and free from these horrible constraints of nobility.”

“Even as I hear you say this I fear Uther divorcing you in order to marry another. Uther would have no choice but to protect his reputation and protect his kingdom. You would have to be cast as the villain, and then where would you be?” Nimueh took Ygraine’s cool hand into her own, trying to feed warmth back into her body, but Nimueh’s magic was not taking hold in the way it normally did.

“He won’t abandon me, or cast me as a villain. He cares too much to do that. You would never _let_ him do that.”

“And don’t you ever lose faith in my loyalty. Uther has always been a good friend of mine, but if I pick sides here, I will pick yours my dear. Always.” Nimueh leaned up to press a tender kiss to Ygraine’s cheek, feeling that cool beneath her lips as well.

It was so beautiful between them in that moment. It seemed so simple, so sure, and yet every breath, even heartbeat, even the whisper of a breeze through the window echoed the same hopeless words. They were running out of time.

Then she heard new words, they rang out as clear as a bell, and she was terrified.

~*~

“Gaius, what is it that has caused you to need to meet with me so urgently.”

“I cannot say for certain, however I fear it is a great prophecy.”

“A _great prophecy_.” Uther repeated, every word dripping with disbelief and amusement, “Great prophecies are things of legend Gaius. It’s the 20 th century, if you hadn’t forgotten.”

“The great dragon Kilgharrah is a thing of legend and yet we all know he is alive and well in the Forest of Dean.”

_‘And you would be a fool to think so King Uther Pendragon.’_

“What was that?” Uther demanded, the words had rang as clear as a bell in his head, had he heard them, had he imagined them? Gaius seemed entirely unaffected. “Was it you Gaius, I do not take kindly to such parlour tricks.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, sire.” Gaius confessed, “Perhaps I could explain it if you told me what happened. You seemed lost for a moment.”

“It’s not of importance,” Uther snapped, suddenly unnerved where before he had felt such peace. “Tell me about this prophecy, if it seems to disturb you so.”

“It’s difficult to establish what exactly happened, but powerful sorcerers heard the words spoken clearly. Each of them heard the words in exactly the same way, and felt… fear is the only way I can describe it.”

“I hardly have time for these flights of fancy, tell me what was said and when.” Uther demanded.

Gaius’s eyes glazed over slightly in remembrance, as though in a trance he recited:

“True knights of the round table, the men of legend will be reborn and rise

The people will rise also and destroy that which tied their chains

The house of Pendragon will be so strong that it will turn itself into dust

Father and son will meet face to face, but not eye to eye, and one shall destroy the other.

The golden age will come, but not when the battle is won.”

 

“I half expected it to rhyme Gaius.” Uther scoffed, “This sounds nonsensical, does it not? My father is recently dead, and I have no son with whom I could possibly wish to fight.”

 “Prophecies like these are often unclear. It may not be about you at all. Sometimes one can only understand what happened after the fact.” Gaius was still trying to emphasise the importance of his words.

“Then what is the purpose of you coming here to try and scare me? There is nothing that I can do about your nonsensical ramblings except be frustrated by them. If it might not even involve me then, truly, what is it that we can hope to learn from this rubbish?”

“Perhaps the full meaning is unclear,” Gaius demurred, “but you would be a fool to ignore it.”

“And I do not take kindly to being called a fool!” Uther snapped, before going slack and retreating back into a more kingly manner, “Could a powerful sorcerer have done this, one meaning to undermine me?”

“I know of no sorcerer powerful enough to do this, not even a high priestess.”

“It doesn’t mean that one doesn’t exist, if they were truly that powerful then they could have remained hidden.” He countered

“If they were truly that powerful they wouldn’t need to resort to faking a prophecy heard throughout the entire country. We must treat this prophecy as _real_ , your majesty.”

Uther would soon forget the words he had wished to reply with, he would forget most everything of importance. They would never again return to that conversation with rationality and honesty.

“Uther!” The door slammed open, all respect for rank dismissed in an instant, Nimueh ran in swiftly followed by two guards who had barely time to react, “You must come. Please, there isn’t much time.”

“What?” Uther spluttered in shock, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ygraine. Your child. You must _come_.” She emphasised before running out again, Uther was hot on her heels as he ran from the room, Gaius all but forgotten behind him.

He chased after Nimueh’s fast retreating form, “Nimueh,” He shouted, “What’s happening?” But she ignored him, there wasn’t time to turn around and look, even for a king.

They reached Ygraine’s bedchambers in almost no time, and Ygraine was sat kneeling at the edge of the bed. Her whole body slumped forward, her back arched as taught as a bow. It wasn’t abating like normal contractions might, it seemed continuous. She was barely breathing and deathly pale.

“The baby’s coming?” Uther questioned, looking at Nimueh for some sort of confirmation or recognition.

“It’s possible, but this is beyond normal labour.” Nimueh explained briefly, “Ygraine,” she said kneeling down beside the queen, calm voice being betrayed by her fraught features, “Can you speak to me? Can you explain where the pain is coming from?”

There was no response from Ygraine, but for a pitied whimper, far from the concentrated cries of a normal labour. There was no fight in her, no sense of the pain being overcome by a sense of purpose. Uther knew nothing of childbirth, and yet even he could tell that this pale and forlorn image was neither matched with the person he knew his wife to be, nor did it match with all he had heard about childbirth. Ygraine was dying, there was no doubt in his mind of what was happening.

“For god’s sake Nimueh! Do something!” He yelled, though he knew it would do no good. Nimueh for her part was already chanting under her breath, the words sounded familiar to Uther, the words for life, a blessing put on Ygraine when she had been told she was barren, the words meant to bring about new life. A warning that new life often came with a commensurate price. Uther didn’t understand.

“You’re making it worse!” Uther shouted, it’s all he could understand of what was happening. Was Nimueh making it worse, or simply unable to stop Ygraine from declining? She was paid to stop these things from happening, they weren’t living in the fucking medieval period. Women didn’t just _die_ in childbirth in this day and age. Except they did, and by god was Uther terrified.  He barely noticed the midwife giving Ygraine instructions that she hardly had enough strength to comply with.

Tears were streaming down Nimueh’s face even as she was chanting clear and even, speaking words that Uther had never cared to translate for himself. Nimueh could be doing anything to the queen and he would never know, he’d never even considered the idea, but someone had tried to undermine his right to his kingdom through ridiculous whispers and now, for no discernible reason, magic was once again ripping the most important things away from him.

Moments later, or was it hours – lifetimes perhaps– there was a piecing cry. His child, his new born son was alive and real and beautiful. Then everything else was terrible silence, no-one took a breath, perhaps in some sense of horrific sympathy and understanding. Nimueh, whose ever present drone had been if not reassuring, at least gave the impression of hope, now stood quiet. The midwife and the doctor, both stood back covered in blood. Uther could pretend that Ygraine was simply exhausted from the agony of childbirth, but this grey deadness was far worse than the paleness of her living skin.

“Why aren’t you doing something?” Uther demanded to everyone present, the only other person not silent was barely five minutes old, and even then the snuffling whines were not the normal cries of a new born.

“The ambulance is coming,” the doctor, stated calmly, “I will do what I can, but your majesty, there’s little that can be done.”

Uther turned to Nimueh, hardly breathing, hardly moving. She had stopped crying. She had stopped doing anything, “Please,” he urged, softly.

“One cannot make life where there is no life to be found.” Nimueh whispered, “I was so stupid, so arrogant.” She made no move to leave, or to help, or to do anything but stand like a cursed stone.

“Your son needs you,” The midwife broke, gloved hands still covered in blood. “In a time like this, you need to look after him.”

“I…” He paused, stuck in that perilous place between anger and devastation, “What of him, is he well?”

“Despite it all he is perfectly well, sire.” The midwife insisted, “But without you he’s going to suffer greatly. You must be here for him, more than in just body.” There was undeniable truth in her words, but they wouldn’t penetrate through the haze that was Uther’s turmoil.

“How dare you stop trying,” he shouted at Nimueh who still stood there stone-faced, “Who gave you the right to decide that she can’t be saved.”

Nimueh turned to face him slowly, grindingly, mouth set “You did. When you insisted, despite my warnings that you wanted help with Ygraine bearing a son. You did when you decided, despite telling you that only a life can beget a life, that you wanted to have your precious heir more than the risk to her.”

“You knew this would happen!” Uther bellowed, “You used magic to kill the queen, this is high treason.”

“Look to your own sins, Uther,” Nimueh spat darkly, “this is on your hands, your never ending desire to continue the pendragon line; it’s all on you.”

“Guards!” Uther shouted, he had no control over the words he spoke, his emotions had stolen him, he was running on autopilot, blank behind the rage.

“Do you think I’d even let you?” Nimueh sneered, “I hope that they’re coming to throw you in your own fucking Gaol for this, you bastard.”

Uther couldn’t speak another word, as the KRT swept into the room, Nimueh ran to the window. Though clearly the only exit, she would have been a fool to jump out of it, there was far too great a distance between the room and the ground.

“You’ll make yourself pay for this, mark my words. It’ll be on you and you alone.” She spoke with an uncharacteristic calm, closed her eyes, spread her arms wide and fell backwards as soft as a feather out of the open window.

“Go after her,” Uther instructed,

“But sire,” one of his men said, “She’ll be dead, there’s no way she could have survived that…”

“If you really believe that then you’re a bigger fool than I took you for, never underestimate her power. Now go.”

“Uther,” the midwife asked again, trembling, “Please, your son…”

He could hear the crying of his son over the quiet and disconcerting noises of the doctor still trying to keep Ygraine’s body alive. He could barely breathe, but he brought the squalling infant to his chest, “I’m sorry,” he murmured quiet, trying to still the cries, “I’m so sorry Arthur, I promise, here and now you won’t have to live in a world with such evil in it. I promise, I promise…”

~*~

The curtains were closed again, they were always closed, as though the meagre scraps of fabric covering their small PVC windows would be enough to stop the oncoming storm. The radio was on in the dimly lit kitchen, two ordinary people holding hands clingingly.

 “It’ll be alright, Hunith.” Balinor lied softly, “They’re just making sure that crimes committed with magic are treated with the appropriate severity.”

“That’s not what’s happening and you know it all too well, Bal. Please don’t pretend that this is alright when it’s not.”

“It’s not like I’ve ever done anything bad or dangerous, I’ve only ever help people get rid of dragons who are picking off too many sheep. I’m just glorified pest control.”

Hunith sobbed, “Everyone knows who you are, all over Briton you’ve be hailed as the Last Great Dragon Lord, you think that’s not going to bring attention?”

“If I run then what good would that do?” Balinor had tried to be comforting, but it wasn’t working, “It’ll be as good as saying that I’m guilty of some crime or another when I’ve done nothing to apologise for.”

“What does it matter? Your existence is all they need to decide you’re a threat, they could say anything they like about you; theoretically you could command armies, gather the great dragons to attack the crown.”

“I’d never do anything like that,” Balinor said, “The very idea is ridiculous.”

“ _They won’t care_.” Hunith drove every word home carefully, “It won’t matter. It’s any excuse, any reason they can find. It’s not keeping the peace or fighting a civil war, it’s genocide. Can’t you see?”

Balinor didn’t speak, of course it was true, but where did the good come in admitting it? If he ran he was guilty, if he stayed he was guilty, enough people knew where he lived. He couldn’t bring that wrath raining down upon his family. They were at a silent impasse, waiting for something anything to tell them which way to turn.

It was then that Merlin gurgled, eyes lit with molten gold. He was barely old enough to speak, and yet across the table from his loving parents he drew towards him the little plastic rattle. It moved easily across the table of its own volition, and hopped straight into the pudgy fingers of the delighted child.

“Please tell me that was you,” Hunith whispered she didn’t have to see Balinor shake his head to know the answer.

He was gone by morning.

~*~

Arthur at the time was well past being able to speak, and moving into the stage of straight up deception and manipulation. His Uncle Agravaine wasn’t easy to fool, but sometimes he pretended to be just for the sake of the game.

“Where’s little Arthur?” he whispered menacingly, as Arthur hid behind a curtain, unaware that his feet were completely visible. Arthur giggled brightly. “Is he over here?” the voice said from across the room. “No… hmm, is he over here?” he said, getting a little closer, Arthur couldn’t contain the nervous little laughs that hiccupped from him, “I know. I think he’s… here!”

Arthur had been grabbed before he could manage to get away, and ticked into a giggle filled submission.

“Now come on, Arthur,” his uncle admonished, “Why were you hiding all afternoon?”

“A bad sorcerer made me.” Arthur lied, he didn’t notice the hard set of his Uncle’s face at the response.

“You shouldn’t say things like that Arthur,” Agravaine insisted, “If we don’t know when there’s really a bad scorer, then how will we ever know when to come and rescue you. It’s not good to lie.”

“I’m sorry Uncle,” Arthur said solemnly,

“Don’t do it again. Now tell me; why were you really hiding?”

“I don’t like them,” Arthur admitted, “I just want father back.”

“I know you don’t like them, but they’re here to look after you, it’s their job.” Agravaine explained, “You’re going to be in charge of all of them one day, and you can’t be in charge of people if you’re scared of them can you?”

“No, but do I have to be in charge of the KRB?”

“KRT,” Agravaine corrected automatically, “and yes, it’s going to be your duty. Your job as King is to protect your country from all the evil. That’s the job of the KRT, and you’ll help them do that. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Arthur repeated. And he would understand, all too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queerplatonic Ygraine FTW? Maybe?


	3. 2003

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some truths are revealed, and others are hidden in plain sight.

“I don’t like it.” Arthur pouted, despite many times being told that such behaviour was unbecoming for a young prince. His tutor had reminded him enough times that pouting was _especially_ unbecoming for a prince who would be king. Arthur wasn’t exactly sure what kings did, but he was quite certain that whatever it was, the job was very important, therefore his father wasn’t allowed to pout. If pater couldn’t pout, then neither could Arthur. In theory at least.

“You’re quite certain that you don’t like much at all, sire.” Gaius, quipped. The Single Eyebrow was being cocked in the way that always filled Arthur with reproach. It made him feel like a brat, which he wasn’t, not really. He was a great deal more grown up than any of his peers at school.

Arthur was reluctant to call them friends; he wasn’t really permitted to have friends as such. It wasn’t safe to have friends, even your closest friend might turn out to have cruel intentions. That’s what his father said. He had to choose his friends carefully and never let them close enough to hurt. Arthur wasn’t exactly certain what that was supposed to mean, but for now he decided that it simply meant not having friends. It was hard to enjoy school when actively trying _not_ to make friends, but attending a real school with other children was what his mother had wanted. Secretly he imagined that his mother would have encouraged him to make friends if she had been alive. She would have let him pout a little bit too, he was sure.

“He always sticks pins in me,” This was a perfectly justifiable excuse to pout Arthur thought, but Gaius didn’t see it that way.

“And I would be sympathetic, sire, if you were to have your new suit fitted, but you had it fitted last week. All that remains is for you to wear it.”

“I bet he had to dye the shirt red because of how many times he stabbed me.” Arthur muttered, staring at the bright pendragon red with barely concealed disgust. Despite repeated reminders that this was a noble colour of great history and privilege, Arthur simply thought it made him look like a tomato.  A royal tomato. All they needed to do was paint his crown green and the look would be set.

He was getting a little tubby around the middle, he knew, but his father assured him that it was simply a precursor to his next growth spurt. Arthur was even less impressed by that prospect. He had seen the other boys in the older years as they went through their own growth spurts; they had gone from boyish round-faced children, to sarcastic spotty bean poles ready to be blown over by a strong gust of wind. He wanted to skip all that nonsense and head straight to the bit where he was the kind of handsome prince that never got made fun of. He wanted to be Eric or Philip or any of those other ones from the Disney films. Bullies never whispered mean things behind their backs, or avoided speaking to them in the playground because everyone was scared of their fathers…

The press said he was angel faced and adorable, but he didn’t particularly like those descriptions either.  He didn’t particularly like the press much as well. He sighed to himself as he considered the truth of what Gaius had said, he really _didn’t_ like much.

“I suggest, sire, that you dress as soon as you are able or you may find that you are left behind on your own. As this is the first royal duty you have ever been asked to perform, you can see why that might cause an inconvenience.”

Arthur bit his tongue and reluctantly picked up his tomato costume, mostly because he didn’t have a witty comeback to devastate Gaius with how brilliant he was.

He suspected, “Your face is an inconvenience.” Just wasn’t going to cut it.

~*~

“I suggest, sire, that you wait in the car until I am ready to shield you from view. You may wave as any dutiful prince would, of course, but I wouldn’t want you to be unprotected. Your father has already arrived in the car ahead of you.

Arthur glanced through the tinted windows at the hounding hordes of photographers who were waiting for him on the street. He had wanted to ride in the car with his father, but the king had hoped that by leaving separately Arthur might not be pursued so hotly by paparazzi. They had always wanted to take pictures of him as he was ‘the exact image of his tragically late mother’, there was something romantic and tragic about it apparently. He didn’t find it poetic or heart wrenching, it just made Arthur feel sick to his stomach. He never really forgot that he killed his own mother, and the press bringing up the similarities between the two upset him more than he would dare to show.

Obviously Gaius, or any of his carers would tell him to stop this nonsense and never think such things again. They would tell him that people die in childbirth all the time, it’s not the fault of the child, it just a terrible thing that happens. Sometimes though, when father thought he wasn’t looking, Arthur would notice a look of sadness and regret on Uther’s face. What other reason could there be for those sad glances than the disbelief that he had traded a beautiful and wonderful wife and queen, for a slightly tubby and bratty son who complained about broccoli, even when cooked by Michelin starred chefs.

Arthur tried not to think about it too much, it just ended up making him sad. A sad, sad tomato.

Today Arthur was going to open his own hospital - that’s what his father had called it. The prince’s trust had funded it in part, so Arthur had to go and smile and wave at people he didn’t know or particularly like, and pretend to understand the place.

The hospital, though Arthur knew it was actually a rehabilitation facility, was an extensive building smack bang in the middle of Camelot. Having it in such a central location would be the easiest way for it to help the most people. Once he had worked his way through the crowd gathered around, Arthur was able to go up and take his place by his father’s side. He had wanted to hold the King’s hand, but that wasn’t really done. He was playing ‘the king’ now. It was a role he wore seriously, and that couldn’t be broken by annoying things like babying one’s son.

Arthur tried not to clench his fists too tightly, for fear of looking angry or upset in front of the cameras, and plastered on his most winning smile. Everyone said it was charming, so he just hoped that it worked. All he had to do was hold himself together long enough to cut a ribbon with a pair of scissors. It really couldn’t be that hard.

When Uther had told him that Arthur had built a hospital (Arthur privately found that image funny, though he mostly wanted a hard hat) he was afraid that he would have to make a public speech about it. His father reassured him that Arthur would be required to make no speeches. He would simply need to be seen to tour the facility and open the place for use. Uther had a certain way with words which Arthur didn’t yet possess. He supposed one learned such skills when they got the crown.

“I am pleased to announce today, a brand new rehabilitation facility, the first of its type to be made available to the people of our great city. This nation is in dire need of facilities of this time to help those who suffer greatly with the terrible illness that plagues the abusers of magic. We have long known the adverse effects that magic has on those who practice it, in facilities such as these around the country we aim to help cure people of their addictions to the practice of magic and help heal their bodies and minds of the terrible devastations that such practice has wreaked.

“With guidance from the country’s leading professionals, we hope to rehabilitate those suffering from such addictions to turn them back into the upstanding citizens and pillars of their communities that friends and family once knew them to be. In time, with the help of The Prince’s Centre, amongst others, we will rid this great nation of the scourge that is magic and see our people happy and healthy once more.”

There was a jubilant applause following this speech. Arthur’s father spoke with such strength and conviction that the assembled reporters and officials stood to their feet in adoration. It made Arthur proud; Uther was a good king, he put so much time and money into helping people and he had personally overseen the design and the construction of the facility on Arthur’s behalf. He could only hope to be as strong and as wise a king one day.

Uther nodded down to Arthur with a tight smile. Arthur closed his mouth when he realised that he had been staring at his father in admiration. This wasn’t the father he knew and loved, but the king was still a person he greatly admired.

“It’s your turn Arthur,” Uther whispered, deep voice soft and reassuring.

“I now declare this hospital open.” Arthur whispered to himself a few times. That was all he had to say, to cut the ribbon and smile. He stood next to the ribbon with the large golden scissors. His hands were clammy and breathing fast.

“Inowdeclarethishospitalopen.” He shouted in one breath, taking two attempts to cut the ribbon despite the sharpness of the scissors. Flashes went off in his face. He bit his tongue and tried to smile, if he couldn’t act the part, he could at least try to look it. Inside though his heart was breaking; if he couldn’t even cut a stupid ribbon then what kind of king was he going to be? He was probably going to be the end of the monarchy at this rate.

“You did very well, son.” Uther whispered out of the corner of his mouth, Arthur could hardly even see his lips move. “Just a little longer, then we can go home.”

~*~

Obviously they couldn’t tour the entire hospital. It would be far too big, and despite Arthur ‘opening’ the facility, there were already many patients in residence who were being treated. Arthur looked around with some interest, but mostly he was just trying to keep a straight face. The rooms seemed really nice, if a little small, but he understood that if the rooms were smaller, then more people could fit in which meant more people could be helped. That had to be a good thing.

There were other communal rooms that Arthur was impressed by. There were lots of comfy sofa and chairs and a library of calming books. There was a table tennis table and a big canteen. There was a collection of card games and a little piano. Anything that a person could want. It seemed clean and the few members of staff that Arthur had seen seemed nice enough, if a little poker-faced. Still, the whole thing made him feel a little uneasy. No matter how cosy the shared room was, there was no getting away from the clear fact that this was a hospital. No one liked hospitals.

Then Arthur had to greet the patients, those were the people he was less happy to meet. He had been taught to pity and fear magic users in turn, and whilst he knew that they would be helped here, he couldn’t help but wish to stay far, far away from all of them. They stood in a row, and Arthur would meet them, allow them to give him flowers, bow politely at them, that sort of thing. But they had been paraded out like prizes and it made him feel almost sick. He had thought he would feel as though he was helping people get better, but they didn’t look better.

Arthur tried to reassure himself that this was normal. There was no mystery, no great surprise in sick people looking like they were sick. They looked like people from hospitals in films, where the ghost-like people walked the halls waiting for the miracle moment where they would get better because of a brand new drug, or the love of a friend or the gift of laughter. They were the _before_ , and Arthur wouldn’t be brought back to see the after.

Through the rows of illness, there was one woman who stuck in Arthur’s mind. Her hands were bound in front of her like the others; for their own good his father had said - to protect them from themselves whilst they were still sick. She was not like the others though. The others he could believe were sick, drawn grey faces and sunken eye spoke of pain and trauma. They spoke of years of neglect and suffering. They were cowed and shivering, they would probably be grateful for a bed and food; even if the facilities weren’t up to Arthur’s standards, but _she_ didn’t. Her blond hair was wild around her face, her deep eyes were streaked liberally with kohl. Her head was high, chin raised as if in defiance of some great evil.  

‘It’s a mistake’ he wanted to tell them, ‘she shouldn’t be here; she’s not sick. She’s fine, let her go. It’s making her angry, she probably wants to go home.’

But he didn’t say that. He was silent, he stood there and tore his eyes away from hers. He lowered his gaze and spent the rest of the time with his eyes on his feet. He bit his tongue until it bled, copper in his mouth. He never said a word.

~*~

It wasn’t his fault really. Merlin had been such a good boy for Hunith, he had always tried his very hardest to do exactly as he said, even if he couldn’t understand why. Magic to him was as vital and easy as breathing. Telling him to stop using magic was as easy for Hunith as any mother telling her own child not to breath. And yet Merlin, beautiful perfect little Merlin, so much like his father, so precious and unspoiled, would do it, hold this magical breath until he was blue in the face. He would hold it until he couldn’t hold it any more, until the glittering shimmering butterflies would form in his hand and their meagre rose bush would grow strawberries and the wild foxes of the forest would play fetch in the garden like all Merlin had to do was ask.

She had avoided sending him to nursery, and to have gone to a play group before that had been unthinkable. She could explain away any odd experiences if only the occasional person saw them, but trying to fool a whole classroom full of adults would have been absurd. The reception class on the other hand would only have a single teacher and a TA. They were less likely to have their eyes trained on Merlin at all times. He might be able to get away with keeping his secret a little longer. It was a balancing act at that point, to have avoided sending Merlin to school would have been suspicious, child services would have become involved had she never registered him for school, and any sort of at home call would have made Merlin’s magic beyond obvious.

And so dreadfully she had wanted him to have friends, all his life she had known that he would never feel like he was normal. Anything she could do to alleviate his isolation she would do in a heartbeat, as long as Merlin was safe. But Merlin was rarely safe, that was the whole problem. Of course would be able to make friends, he was such a sunny and happy boy, if only he were able to be himself without fear, if only Hunith wasn’t scared to let Merlin play in the park with the other children, then his life might have been completely different. Hunith begged to anything and anyone that might be listening to hear her prayer and lift the awful ban. She whispered into the night about a golden future and a golden age that would let her son be himself without fear, but things were never that simple as hoping them into existence, not for ordinary people at least.

This was the time for Hunith to be brave though, because Merlin had been trying so hard, he had been practicing at keeping his magic secret for so long and was becoming so much better at it. He was at an age where he could understand control, and more than that he was starting to understand why he needed to be quiet and not let people see his talents. He didn’t understand why people thought magic such as his was evil, but at least he understand _that_ they did.

“Now what do you do if the sparkles come?” Hunith said, doing up the buttons on Merlin’s school shirt.

“Hold them down, then ask to go to the toilet.” Merlin repeated stone-faced, “Then no one will see and I’ll be safe.”

“Good boy,” she praised him, kissing the top of his mop of black hair affectionately. “You’ll make lots of friends. You’ve not nothing to be scared of.”

“Lots of new people to be friends with!”  Merlin grinned wide, he hadn’t had many friends, though he had wanted them as desperately as Hunith had.

“Exactly,” she beamed back, unable to deny his infectious joy when so freely given.

Of course he would make friends quickly. Merlin’s instinct was to help people, to make sure that others were happy and to do good things for others. He was five, Hunith could hardly blame him for his inclination towards kindness. What kind of mother would she be if she had taught her son not to care, to ignore those in danger or those who got hurt?

So of course he had made a best friend almost immediately, with a sweet boy whose thirst for adventure complimented Merlin’s cautious nature so well. Little Will had wanted to climb trees and Merlin had wanted to pick flowers and tell stories to his new friend has he had hung upside down from his tree. Merlin couldn’t have known how unsure his new friend’s feet were, how overconfident his scramble to the top of the tree was, how weak the high branches were, how easy it was to slip.

The fall was as inevitable as it would have been devastating if it weren’t for Merlin’s quick reflexes. It would have meant something terrible for the young Will. Instead with the tell-tale molten gold flooding Merlin’s eyes, Will floated down to the floor landing with barely more than a whisper of foot falls. Only one or two people saw this amazing feat, no one was close enough to prove that Merlin had done something, but it was enough to start rumours, to talk of the strange abilities that her son possessed and the unnatural things he was capable of.

One person was one person too many. Words were like a virus, spreading, infecting the ears of all who heard them, and before long everyone would suspect, even if they didn’t know for certain. Less than a day and already she was getting strange looks on the street that she couldn’t shake. How long before those looks turned to stares, before those stares turned to harsh words, before those words turned to violence?

Hunith knew in her heart that she had no choice, she would have to prepare herself for the day where she would kill her own son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly quicker update from me. Lets be honest quick is relative, but at least now I'm settled in my new home with a reliable internet connection!
> 
> Tomato!Arthur ftw.


	4. 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur both learn some small parts of their destinies, with horrific consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s getting pretty dark from here on out. You have been warned. If you are triggered by mildly explicit violence and near-miss child abuse, please look after yourself. If you want to ask about specific warnings before you read the chapter feel free to message me.

Merlin was exhausted.

Everything in him was screaming to give up. He had spent what felt like a lifetime fighting. He had been fighting off the cold. He had been fighting past the hunger. He had been fighting off the others on the streets who sought to take advantage of him for being young and fragile. The only thing that kept him even remotely safe was his magic, and yet he couldn’t help but fear deeply that he would suffer if anyone caught him using it. He had learned so quickly, far too quickly, how to lure potential attackers into an ally so that he couldn’t be seen whilst he disposed of them. Knocking them out with a heavy rock, or slamming them into the wall, or forcing sound into their ears until they crumbled to their knees. Anything to stop them following.

But if someone noticed him… neutralising these threats, then he would be dead, or worse. More than once he had to bite his tongue and cool his blood and fight someone off the normal way because he risked being caught. He had scratch marks on his lower stomach where someone tried to pull his trousers down. The nick of a switchblade underneath his jaw where a bum had tried to take his money. The bruises on his upper arm from a street kid who needed collateral for his next drug hit. All the while Merlin had known he was strong enough to fight, and yet was unable to do a single thing to defend himself. Holding his breath against the dirty palm clamped around his mouth and dirty fingers scrabbling lower before the coast was clear enough for him to lash out against his attacker.

It had been too close to something unspeakable happening on more than one occasion. He had to get to Gaius to safety. Unfortunately, he had no idea where he was to be found except in Camelot, and the prostitutes that had sheltered him for a few days before the KRT clamp-down had no idea who the guy was. Camelot was a city of twelve million people, there was almost no chance of coming across him at random and he couldn’t risk trying to locate him through magic. Gaius ran in high circles, or at least he got that impression, Merlin on the other hand was running for his life on the streets.

Finding Gaius had been his biggest concern, however it was becoming less and less important. What mattered now was survival. Finding food, finding shelter that wouldn’t come at too steep a price - if he wasn’t able to survive then finding someone to help keep his magic a secret would become a rather moot point all too quickly. Lifting the soon to be discarded cakes silently out of the back door of the cafe kitchens before they were thrown into the skip was a simple matter of levitation – he had been doing that before he could even speak, for Merlin the magic was always ridiculously easy, the only difficult thing was not getting caught.

“I knew you would be here.” A voice came, causing Merlin to gasp and drop his incriminating prize in mid-air. He could only hope that the stranger would be focused on him and not on the gentle thud of cakes hitting the floor.

The woman, Merlin was just about brave enough to look her in the face, clearly _knew_. Maybe she had seen, perhaps she was one of those people who could smell it, but she understood that magic had just been done in her presence. Merlin couldn’t speak, couldn’t run, but he knew he was risking his life staying.

“I must admit I didn’t expect you to be this young,” The beautiful red mouth spoke the words easily as though this was a conversation the two had been carrying on for many years. Merlin was almost ashamed that she didn’t know what she was talking about, because she seemed to expect him to. Merlin curled in on himself as she took a step towards him, hand outstretched.

“Oh, my poor little dear.” She said, withdrawing her hand. The kind manner didn’t fit her properly, like a badly tailored dress, well intentioned, but simply wrong. “Here isn’t a safe place for you to be, and we need to talk.”

“Who are you?” Merlin whispered, unable to put on a front of bravery.

“I’m Nimueh, and I’ve been waiting a long time for you Emrys.”

~*~

Merlin went with Nimueh to her house, not that he really had much choice in the matter. If she knew his secret and knew who he was he couldn’t exactly turn her down, she held the cards. She didn’t seem to want to hurt him or extort him, but who knew what her intentions were. At this point, as she hadn’t immediately turned him over to the KRT, he suspected that staying with her was far safer than risking staying on the streets.

The house itself was dark and old. It seemed to have been converted from an old warehouse or factory. From the outside he wouldn’t have known the building was a home. Though the inside was still sparsely decorated, exposed metal beams and brickwork, it did have some of the trappings of a comfortable life.

“I’ll make you some tea,” she smiled, “and get you something to eat. You go have a shower and then we can talk.” She folded a towel, small t-shirt and joggers into his hands and waved him over to the bathroom to sort himself out. Merlin couldn’t be sure if she trusted him not to damage anything in the house, or knew herself strong enough that Merlin wouldn’t stand a chance if he tried to steal or destroy anything. He wasn’t willing to try and find out, much safer just to go along with what she said, and run if it started to look like trouble. He hoped that he could take her apparent kindness at face value.

The clothes were too big for him, clearly built for a man, but if he drew the drawstring tight they would at least stay up. He padded back to the kitchen, and sat at the table silently when invited with a simple hand gesture.

“So,” Nimueh said, a cup of strong tea into a delicate china cup in front of him, “What brings you to Camelot, Emrys. Whilst your destiny was revealed to me many years ago, the details were rather vague. I had thought you would be a much more trained warlock, perhaps even a druid, but you are not.”

“I think you have me mixed with someone else.” Merlin said, grabbing a few of the biscuits into his hand as he said this, if this lady’s hospitality might be revoked by knowing the truth, he wanted to secure some prize, “My name’s not Emrys; it’s Merlin.”

“Of course your given name is not Emrys, I doubt any parents to be so pretentious, but that is who you are nevertheless.”

“I have no idea what that means.” Merlin admitted, feeling as though he should know. This name connected with some deep part of himself, but he was unsure as to what part that was.

“Don’t worry about it now, it’ll become clearer with time.” She reassured, taking a sip of her own tea, “Now, as much as I appreciate your presence in Camelot, your time is not yet come. I must admit that I’m rather surprised to meet you here; would you not hone your skills and talents somewhere far safer? I understand that most magic must come naturally to you, but even you would benefit from training.”

“I do need training, there isn’t anyone in Ealdor that could train me, and there was no safer than anywhere else. Despite the KRT, here is as safe as anywhere.”

“You know that’s not true, I can see past your bravery little one. Every corner of this city is under intense scrutiny. I’ve barely survived this long, and I have been well trained for many decades.”

“Decades?” Merlin questioned, she looked barely in her twenties, most people didn’t learn magic until they hit puberty a decade was possible, but not many.

“I’m not nearly so young as I look, just as you aren’t nearly so frail as you appear. You can do wordless magic, you can bend anything to your will. You don’t need to be taught how to use magic, you need to be taught how to control it. That’s the only way you would be safe in Camelot.”

“That’s why I’m here, sort of.” Merlin explained again, “There’s this man, my mother knew him he used to be one of the royal practitioners and physicians until the purge. Apparently he has a lot of ancient texts in his possession and has made a promise to my mother that he would look after me. I need to find him.”

Nimueh’s face darkened swiftly, her displeasure open and bitter. “I have my suspicions of course, but do you have a name of this person?”

Merlin hesitated mouth half open to reply before his senses caught up to himself. She seemed like a good person, someone who had taken him in with kindness, but what if she was KRT? What if she was trying to get names of potential practitioners in the kingdom? He could be putting people in terrible trouble.

“I understand your hesitation,” she soothed, “you are wise for it. However to assure your mind, I will speak for you; the man you seek is the physician Gaius is it not?”

Merlin didn’t speak yet again, but he didn’t deny it either, and that was enough for Nimueh to understand. “The old man has promised a lot of things in his time, I would learn to rely on yourself first, before him. Perhaps you would be better returning to your home, or perhaps going to the druids.”

“Can you take me to him or not?” Merlin said, unable to deny the truth of her words, but having no choice. His mother had said to go to Gaius, and that was what he had to do.

“As much as it pains me to speak to that traitor again,” she said, “He has always been a good teacher. I’ll take you to him.”

~*~

Gaius’s place was far more obviously a home than Nimueh’s perhaps was, but there was something about it that felt less homely. Despite the ample space, neat magnolia walls, plush carpet and shelves upon shelves of books (of which Merlin was certain some contained magic) he still felt strongly that this place held too much fear, too much restraint.

Nimueh hadn’t stuck around to show him in either. He could only hope that she had been checking on him to see that he was okay when he got into the house, that there was no trap waiting for him but this was a foolish assumption on his part; he’d known her barely a day. Certainly not enough time to get the full measure of her honesty, or to ascertain how protective she might or might not have been of him.

“Your mother was a good woman.” Gaius said, “as was your father, it saddens me to see the hardships that you and your family had to put up with.”

“My mum’s not dead.” Merlin spoke. Gaius spoke as though this were a wake, and Merlin couldn’t stand a second more of it.

“Of course I didn’t meant to imply that she was, only that I haven’t spoken to her in person for a number of years. I mostly knew her through your father, and once he disappeared, it was safer for everyone from the old group to keep a reasonable distance. I hope that she is indeed well.”

“Can you train me?” the only question that had been on his mind since he walked through the doors.

“I can but try,” Gaius acquiesced, “Though your situation is not like many others who come through my doors for guidance. You are far more powerful, perhaps even more important than you realise. I would not turn you away, but I can’t pretend that training with me would be a particularly safe endeavour. It might not even be a particularly useful endeavour in your case. The most important thing you could do right now is borrow my books, perhaps read the parts about understanding one’s own internal gifts.”

The book placed in front of Merlin was heavy, a thick tome made of thin pages. It must have contained all the secrets about magic that could have ever been known in the whole history of forever. And probably the last place that had all of them written down. So many books got burned in the purge, even books that mentioned magic and mythical creatures were burned for a while. Though that eased eventually after some time. Books that mentioned magic, could still land the owner in some minor bother, but stories were allowed to stay in the end. Mostly.

This book, however, was not a story. This was real. This was every single thing that could be thought of from the history and practice of real magic in one single place. The text printed so small that the front cover had a pocket to keep a flat magnifying glass.

“This used to be the number one reference text for the average practitioner, they were collected and destroyed in great numbers. I’m sure some of them are still in existence, but almost impossible to come across. I was permitted to keep one as the courts own ‘expert witness’ on magic, but they didn’t know I kept more copies than that. You can keep this one for now. You’ll have more need of it than I.”

Merlin didn’t dare ask if Gaius was sure. He couldn’t risk the gift being taken back, couldn’t risk Gaius having a chance to re-think his offer.

Merlin all but threw himself over the book when he heard the footsteps coming towards to door. He couldn’t risk it being seen in his hands. Gaius wouldn’t have permission to give the book away to young boys with magical capabilities.

“It’s alright, my boy.” Gaius reassured, “You’re not the only person who needs help with controlling their powers.”

The boy who peered around the door must have been even younger than Merlin himself was half his face as perfect as a cherub, and the other half a vivid angry red mess of scars, still fresh.

“Hello, nice to meet you.” Merlin ventured softly, but the boy at the door only stared coolly, keeping his mouth closed tightly. Merlin ventured a wave, but still got no response.

“This is Edwin.” Gaius introduced on the boy’s behalf. “Like you he has inherited some strong capabilities, I knew his parents. He’ll be living here as well, if that’s alright with you. I have to admit I wasn’t prepared for having one pupil, let alone two, so you’ll have to share a room for now. Is that okay?”

The boy stared at Merlin again, then his gaze drifted over to Gaius. He nodded and then scurried away, not seeming to care about whatever original reason he had come into the library in the first place. Merlin could only stare, slightly baffled, at the closed door.

“I beg you not to think him rude, Merlin.” Gaius gently requested, “Edwin doesn’t speak. He hadn’t been able to communicate verbally since the death of his parents. Though he does still seem to verbalise when having nightmares.”

“What happened to his parents?” Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to know, he had heard stories of the things that happened around Camelot, and they didn’t sit well with him at all.

“I would normally say that it’s not my story to tell, but as you’re rooming with the poor lad it might be a good idea for you to know how to help him. “

Merlin didn’t speak, yet again. He sat, the terrible possibilities still churning through his head. His thoughts kept coming inexorable back to his mother. Even his father of whom he had no memories of played heavily through his thoughts. Gaius sat down, pushing a mug of tea towards Merlin. The only appropriate cure for all ills it seemed.

“Edwin’s family used to live in the old potions quarter. The area used to be a mix of many of the magical trades in a few streets, but the potionworks were the main trade. Edwin’s parents were trained practitioners at the apothecary and well respected before the ban. Though much of the quarter was repurposed, those spared in the ban were unable to find new work or lodgings and so the potions quarter remained inhabited by ex-practitioners. The people who lived around the edges of the quarter had… let’s just say reservations, about the presence of practitioners in their own towns and cities.

“Raids, riots, protests, these weren’t unusual in the quarter, but still people were unable to move to safety. The situation reached its boiling point some time last year, when Uther’s latest round of propaganda about the danger of addicts came about, and a… mob decided that torching random houses in the district sent an appropriate message. Edwin was hurt trying to rescue his parents from the fire, who had already passed out from smoke inhalation. They did not survive. I fear that Edwin blames himself somewhat for their deaths.”

“That’s awful.” The only thoughts that Merlin could articulate in that moment.

“As I said before,” Gaius reiterated, “he’s suffered a great deal of trauma in his life, as have we all. Be kind to him.”

~*~

It was surprisingly easy to get on with Edwin. Though he was a little bit younger than Merlin, it was great to have a friend who understood what it was like to have magic, even if that person didn’t talk. Merlin had a friend when he had been in school, but it had been years since he had seen Will, and even then he couldn’t tell Will anything. Not really.

They had their lessons together, though most of their lessons were more like meditation sessions. Edwin was unable to speak any of the words necessary to cast many of the spells, but he could read and he was far better at potions than Merlin seemed to be. Merlin had only tried one or two over the days that he had been at Gaius’s, but what skill he lacked, Edwin made up. Merlin could all too well imagine the two of them becoming the greatest magicians of the age. Like the old stories, they would do amazing things, if only they could practice without the fear of capture.

Merlin stared at the congealed mess of gloop that sat at the bottom of the bowl he had been mixing ingredients into and glanced over to Edwin’s bright powder. Edwin looked up and gave him a rue smile and a shrug. He had learned those skills from his parents Merlin knew. They had developed a system of Merlin asking questions and Edwin nodding or shaking his head in answer, crossing his hands if he didn’t want to answer. It had served their burgeoning friendship well enough so far.

“I’ll never get this.” Merlin said, putting his head down. He was used to magic coming easily to him, he hadn’t realised there were whole disciplines of magic that he knew nothing of all of them written out in detail in the book as a reminder of how little he really knew.

“Am I doing this right?” he muttered the question into his own crossed arms, barely lifting his eyes enough to see the answer. At first Edwin nodded, reassuring him with a kind smile. Before pausing, pulling a face and shaking his head. He tapped the page in front of Merlin, asking him to read it again. Merlin had missed out one of the most important steps, he had just glossed right over it.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, pausing to watch Edwin continue on his studies, his hands flew to different ingredients with barely a glance at the text in front of him. He had certainly been well trained. “Do you miss your parents?”

Edwin bit his lip, gnawing over the scars. His head was down, focused intently on the mixture he was making in front of him. He nodded shallowly eventually. Merlin had just wanted to let Edwin talk about it, but when he couldn’t talk, Merlin didn’t know if he was helping at all.

“Me too” Merlin said, “I mean, I know it’s not the same, and I don’t want to seem like…” He sighed, trying to start again. “I just mean that you’re not alone, you know. If it feels like you need to… talk, or something.”

Edwin still didn’t speak, Merlin didn’t really expect him to, but he did smile and nod once. Focusing instead again on his potion then pointing to Merlin, gesturing for him to read the spell that would enhance its power. Despite their mutual brokenness, they really were a good team.

~*~

“Hide, now.” Gaius demanded all but slamming the door open. Merlin had spent his life learning to hide, he didn’t hesitate to run and find the smallest darkest space that he could in order to become invisible. Edwin on the other hand didn’t move so fast, simply sitting behind the sofa like a child playing games. _Come in here where it’s safer._ Merlin had wanted to shout, but already he couldn’t speak for fear of calling attention to his presence.

Gaius calmly walked up to the door to the sound of the sharp knock, gliding as though unhindered by even the meanest notion of anxiety, a far cry from the state Merlin had just seen him in, but there was no sense that the man was anything but unruffled. As Gaius opened the door, the room became a swell of noise and marching. Merlin couldn’t see much more than a sliver of the movement from where he was sitting incredibly still, but it was enough to see heavy boots and guns in hands.

Merlin’s breath was perfectly held. The ache in his lungs barely bothered him as the guards tore around Gaius’s study. Although he seemed perfectly calm, Merlin was certain that their mentor must have been anything but.

“To what do I owe the pleasure gentlemen?” Gaius ground out, the absolute epitome of pleasantness, hinting barely at his anger and frustration.

The guard who had stood himself between Gaius and the door was solemn in his response, though it was underpinned with barely concealed delight. “Dreadful business, Gaius.” The man said, “We’ve had some warning about attacks being planned by magicians. We’ve been ordered to make sure there aren’t any who might be running around trying to do harm.”

“Sir,” one gruff soldier said, “These books all look like they got magic in ‘em.”

“I wouldn’t deny that,” Gaius replied breezily, “This collection has been allowed me by his majesty King Uther himself. As the court’s appointed scholar it is of utmost important that I remain able to conduct research to counteract wicked magics in any time of crisis or need. But please, ask him yourself if you wish to confirm this. I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you were being thorough.” The vague threat of connections in high places was enough to make everyone take pause, but not quite enough to make them leave.

It was the dogs that really caused the problems. If you had asked Merlin before, he might have said he was a dog person, but these ones that walked around the room growling and barking at every nook and cranny made him hate dogs more than anything.

“And who’s this boy here?” Another said, Merlin thought for sure he was caught, when Edwin was pulled upright by his arm, curled in on himself whimpering softly.

“That is my ward, Edwin. His parents died in a fire recently and he was placed into my care until suitable facilities could be found. As you can see your grand entrance frightened the boy.”

“The dogs have gone crazy with the magic in this place Gaius,” One guard took another step towards Gaius, the threat of power did not just lead one way.

“It’s just the boy.” Gaius said, “His late parents were magic abusers, he’s been exposed to its affects his whole life. If he’s performed any magic, it is only because he doesn’t know any better. It’s impossible to understand what it’s like to be brought up in a house full of addicts. That is why I was asked to treat the lad, to help him stop using magic.”

Gaius suddenly stopped, he had been so careful up to that point, but those last words had sealed the fate of the mute blond youth beyond Gaius’s fixing. To say that Edwin had stopped using magic had implied that he used magic in the past. Gaius couldn’t take it back, not if he were to protect Merlin and Nimueh’s adopted brood.

“So he has performed magic,” one member said, voice gruff, dark leather boots thumping against the floor before coming to a stop too close to where Merlin was standing.

“I really don’t think…” but Gaius was cut off, too late to take back what he had said in error.

“We have our order Gaius, I don’t think it would be wise to question them.”

“A small boy is not going to be part of your terrorist organisation.” Gaius tried to reason, “He’s a sick child, not a pusher.”

“I don’t need anything more from you, thanks Gaius.”

Gaius himself simply bowed and stepped to the side, allowing for the guards to take little Edwin by both arms and drag him out the door, silent, though Merlin could hear him screaming in his mind.

“You’re right of course,” Gaius said, smiling softly, “One really can never be too careful. I had simply hoped to rehabilitate the lad. After all Uther has confessed quite openly that this was his ultimate aim.”

He couldn’t see the guard’s face, nor hear if he had said anything, but Gauis’s face shifted ever so slightly. Hiding any of his real feelings behind a stone wall.

“Thank you, Gaius. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon enough.”

The silence remained for a long time after the guards left, police, KRT, whatever they were, Merlin wasn’t going to risk his life on the assumption that they had disappeared from the room once they had taken Edwin. Gaius hadn’t come for him yet, so Merlin guessed that Gaius thought the same.

It was a long time, familiarly long in Merlin’s illustrious history of hiding in small dark cupboards, before Gaius opened the door, to signal him to come out.

“I’ve just made sure that there weren’t any bugging devices left in the room, we shouldn’t be overheard.”

“What’s going to happen to Edwin?” Merlin asked immediately, he had heard enough stories to worry.

Gaius shook his head involuntarily before smiling softly, sadly. “Hopefully nothing too severe, I’m not without contacts and as he’s just a child there should be a greater leniency. Don’t fret too much, my boy. I won’t leave him with the KRT, not if I can help it. I’m afraid to say though that this will shed too much attention on me. It won’t be safe for you to stay here anymore. Gaius admitted, “I said too much. I shouldn’t have defended the boy. I should have just handed him over. I don’t need anyone questioning my loyalties for any reason. You should stay with Nimueh, she will look after you better than I’ll be able to now. The captain will be watching me too closely.”

Merlin swallowed back the tears threatening to form. He had been stable for less than a week before the rug was pulled out from under him once more. Nimueh had been right, he could only rely on himself. In this world, everyone lost everything. No exceptions.

~*~

“Attention!”

Arthur snapped his heels together, gun snapped neatly into his shoulder, chin held high.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

Arthur fumbled with his gun on the last count, all but dropping it before moving smoothly into the next move, wincing as he did so. He had hoped that he had gone unnoticed, he certainly wasn’t the only Knight Cadet who had fumbled his holds, but the sergeant didn’t like Arthur all that much. He wasn’t sure what instructions he had been given with regards to the treatment of Arthur, but he didn’t much care for being told how to treat his trainees.

“HALT!” everyone froze in place, faces stony and tired. “Do you have a problem, Princess?” the sergeant spat low in his face.

“No, sir.”

“Do you like to mess up drills like a fucking pansy?”

“No, sir.” Arthur swallowed hard against the urge to complain, or point out his relative skill in comparison to some of the other cadets, but he had learned early on that talking back only brought more unwanted attention on him.

“Then explain, you little shit, how you think you can get away with clearly no practice like the self-entitled cunt you are?”

Arthur bit his tongue, he _had_ practiced. He had practiced more than anyone because he had wanted to get it right, because he had wanted his father to be proud of him, but Arthur knew that even if he was the best cadet in the KRT the sergeant would always look down on him. Probably bitter because Arthur would be the head of the KRT by default, no matter how good bad or indifferent he was. The sergeant like to assume that Arthur didn’t care and didn’t try, but by god if Arthur didn’t want to prove his worth, to be a leader because he was _good_ , not because of his father.

“No comment?” the sergeant sneered at him. Arthur bit his lip until it bled.

He turned away from the line where Arthur stood, before addressing all of the cadets. “Alright you horrible lot, you are going to do this again. And again, and again until the little princess here,” he said, shouting in Arthur’s face once more. “Can get it right.”

“One! Two! Three!”

Arthur tuned it out until all he could hear was static and the sting of the rain pouring down his face.

~*~

Arthur had leapt at the chance to go on patrol. He wasn’t getting the respect of his future fellow KRT members by forcing them to do the same drill over and over for an hour until the sergeant got bored, but if he went on patrol, if he was seen to be the same as all the others, then he might have some respect before he was expected to take over the whole organisation. He could be like one of the lads.

Being on patrol wasn’t exactly glamorous, as teenage cadets they were hardly expected to do any major policing, but simple enforcing of curfew, gently letting their presence be known so that any trouble makers would move out of the way, that sort of thing. They were just walking around in small groups really, groups of four or five, armed with stun guns and basic training.

Arthur was the youngest of all the cadets allowed to go on patrol. Most weren’t allowed to go until they were at least sixteen, and normally not until eighteen, but Arthur was, yet again, given special dispensation. He was three years older than all of the cadets in his group. The eighteen year olds were taller and stronger than Arthur himself was, but they kindly enough didn’t make any comment about his age. They were either scared of Arthur’s personal guard, or realised that Arthur was a good contact to make to secure their future success.

The older lads hadn’t really spoken to Arthur, but then again that was far better than them treating him the way that the sergeant did. At least they didn’t seem to resent him for the potential power that Arthur held over them despite his youth and inexperience. Only Val had actually gone out of his way to say hello to Arthur and introduce himself. Arthur was a little intimidated by the man, tall and imposing the snake insignia of his regional badge almost seemed alive. Val was clearly the man in charge.

They had at least another thirty minutes on patrol before the next group took over from them. It had been a lot of shepherding young people back to their homes, and gently persuading the homeless who lived in these parts to go to the local shelter. For most of the round Arthur had been resisting the urge to shiver against the freezing cold and be seen as a weakling. He was starting to get bored out of his mind, it was the fifth time that they had walked past the slippery cobblestones of this damp alley, and nothing had happened since they cleared the alley out the first time around.

They had almost walked past it, when one of the other lads, a ruddy faced ginger boy, shouted down the narrow street to some unknown old man, “Hey, you!” he bellowed, causing their small troop to stop immediately and turned back around, “Magic scum, stay where you are.”

“What?” Val demanded quickly, “Magic?”

“Made a fire from out of nowhere, saw it with my own eyes.” The ruddy faced boy replied, “We should sort him out.”

The old man on the other hand had gathered the few possessions he had on him and started to walk away as quickly as he could manage. Arthur was hardly surprised, the accusation was a severe one.

“Stop!” Val shouted again, pulling out his stun gun and levelling it at the old man quickly followed by the rest of the patrol. They ran into the alley leaving Arthur trailing in their wake, not as tall or as fast as the others yet.

Now terrified, the old man tried to pick up his pace, but he was no match for a group of well-trained KRT cadets, and they swiftly caught up to him. Arthur was too far behind to see if the gun had been deployed or if the man had been tripped or tackled, but he was lying face down on the hard stone floor.

“What magic were you using!” one of the boys demanded,

“No magic, swear,” stuttered the old man, “I can’t, I would never.”

“Liar,” the ruddy faced boy accused, “I saw you.” Angry at the apparent deception he drove his heavy leather boot into the man’s stomach. The swift kick was followed by several others.

“Tell me what you did!” Val accused, the man though, winded or too scared to talk, said nothing.

This prompted another round of swift kicks from the cadets. Then more silence, more shouts, more violence. Again and again and again. Arthur stood back, horrified and confused. Frightened and frozen. These were men who would be under his control, and he did nothing. He couldn’t utter a single word as they tried to force a confession out of a man too old and too hurt to do anything much more than whimper, then there wasn’t even that.

The brutal beating stopped suddenly when a small sound worked its way past the end of the alley.

“We’ve got to finish the round,” Val said, ordering the others to leave the alley and leave the old man behind. “He won’t be causing any trouble now.”

Arthur hung back regretfully, just has he had the entire night. Val was chillingly correct, the man wouldn’t cause any trouble, Arthur wasn’t a medical student, but he was pretty sure that the man was dead. He was too scared to check his pulse, but he could see how pale and lifeless the man had become. His body was limp and didn’t seem to breathe. He had one hand flung out to the side, hand just opened.

And inside the grey dead hand, lay a bloodied box of matches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this, an update in less than a month? Madness!
> 
> Fun fact, the description of the book of magic actually came from a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary that my mother owns. It was the complete dictionary in three large volumes. They were a little smaller than A3, they were each 3 or four inches thick. The paper was this special ultra-thin paper. The text was probably 4 or 5 pt and so densely packed it was almost impossible to read. Unless you used the little magnifying card tucked into the front cover. I always thought it was beautiful. The thought of all the words ever just existing in this book for everyone to know. A much happier history than for Merlin’s version.


	5. 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our protagonists seek the truth, or perhaps simply stumble upon it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit torture and violence towards a minor (character is 16).

Merlin’s every muscle was held motionless. His lungs were gasping for air, but he daren’t even breathe for risk of being found. Magic quivered under the surface of his skin and he put all his effort into tamping it down as best he could. There was not much more that he could do to remain hidden, and yet he heard the footsteps come closer. There was a pause, a turn of a heel. A short gasp of air.

Stupid. So stupid.

He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. He tried to tamp down his powers even more, but he knew already that it was too little, far, far too late. He closed his eyes, not that he could see his pursuer. It didn’t matter, Merlin was certain of the path that those footsteps were taking. Like an arrow they headed straight for him.

The cupboard door flung open.

“Found you!”

Merlin groaned, “Again? I thought I had it this time.” He took the soft pale hand that had been extended towards him and stood up. “I just can’t beat you at this.”

“You’re getting better.” Nimueh said measuredly. Hypnotically blue eyes looked up at him disappointment clear bot on spoken. How long had it been that Nimueh had to look up to meet his gaze? How was it she still made him feel like that little boy he used to be despite how much he’d grown?

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

Nimueh grimaced, “You realise what we’re trying to achieve here, Emrys. I appreciate you volunteering, but this is not your destiny, and this is too difficult for you.”

“But I’m strong,” Merlin protested, “Strong and powerful. If it’s too difficult for me, then it would be too difficult for everyone. Who else are you going to send; Gwen? She’s not got an atom of magic in her.”

“‘She’ can still hear you, and she can beat you at arm wrestling any day of the week.” Gwen called from the kitchen.

It was true, and a bit of a sensitive topic all told, just as Gwen’s lack of magical prowess was a sore spot for her. They fit well together. Where Merlin was a gangly teen, running on instinct and raw power, Gwen, an engineer, was sharp intelligence, compact muscle and strategic planning.  She made up for Merlin’s own failings just as he did what she had been unable to master.

Nimueh’s eternally beautiful face was set in stone. “That’s your exact problem, Emrys. You’re too much raw power. You would never be put into a facility. You’re far too strong, you would simply end up killed. You have to be weaker, more vulnerable. Your ego and your strength would render you a target in seconds.”

“Why can’t I go?” Gwen piped up from behind Nimueh, “They take people there without a trace of magic based on false charges.” _Like your father,_ Merlin thought, but refused to voice. They never talked about Gwen’s father. “Surely I could get in if we played out the right scenario. Make me seem like a rebel, a sympathiser who’s dabbling with trying to learn magic.”

“So just be yourself then?” Merlin quipped, amicably enough he thought, but Gwen still fixed him with a cool stare for it.

“It’s not just getting in.” Nimueh, looked over her shoulder “It’s getting out again. Or you would be a much better fit my dear.”

“So now that we’ve had a good time establishing what we already know,” Merlin said. He was trying to be jovial, but the feeling of pressure was crushing him from all sides, “Can I just restate, despite my many flaws, I’m the only real option here. Wouldn’t it be better for me to keep trying rather than waste time trying to vet and train a new recruit?”

“That is why we are discussing this at all, Emrys. You must ask yourself, is this the easiest path? Would it not be easier to train someone new?”

“No.” Merlin insisted, teeth gritted, “No it wouldn’t.”

“So be it,” Nimueh said with her crimson smile, “let’s try again shall we?”

They sat cross legged on the floor together. Nimueh took his hands in hers. “Listen to your magic, tell it what to do. It is yours to use and to control. Compress it, make it small and calm.”

Merlin crushed every bit of power in him, called it back to the core from the edges of himself, power rushing away from his fingertips and back to lay still in his chest. The power, something so vast and unchanging, resisted being forced to exist in some small pathetic space inside. It burned white hot like the heart of a collapsing star. Merlin took a deep breath.

~*~

“It will be good training for you.” Uther insisted, “You’ll see how things operate on the ground level. You’re a good soldier son, but you’ll need to remember what the average knight under your command feels on a day to day basis. It will help you to remember the mind of your soldiers when making strategic decisions.”

“I don’t disagree with that father.” Arthur countered, “I just don’t see how this is different to the duties I’ve already been performing. I thought it would be time to see other sides to the roles of the KRT. To help me better understand what forces I’ll have under my command and how best to use them for the good of our people. Going to patrol hospitals is not new. I’ve been completing regular patrols with the cadets for years now.”

“Not like this you haven’t.” Uther replied enigmatically, but frustratingly refused to expand upon his meaning yet again. Arthur couldn’t stand this continuous feeling of being left in the dark. “You speak from a sensible position, my son. This will stand you in good stead when you are given full responsibility, but trust me a little when I tell you that _this_ is the sort of training that will make you a good knight and a better leader. Now go and get ready, you’re expected in an hour.”

Arthur had a million additional arguments and retorts balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he was unable to let them go, and so instead he remained silent and turned out of the door and to his own rooms. He understood a dismissal when he saw it. Perhaps if he did the right thing today. Then he might be charged with a different duty for the good of his people tomorrow.

~*~

“The facilities here are state of the art.” An obsessively neat man in an equally neat lab coat spoke with a clipped, very British sort of pride. “The absolute forefront of magic related research, and, if you would permit me to be so bold as to say, the _frontline_ of the fight against magic.”

“I know many of my men who would disagree with you, professor.”

The man bowed politely and yet managed to preserve a sense of sarcasm, “No disrespect to the KRT of course, and no one could dispute the absolute importance of your work, but this here is where the war will really be lost or won.”

“I appreciate your confidence.” Arthur replied as graciously as he was able, “Not everyone would dare to lift themselves up to such a vaulted position so readily. It’s certainly refreshing.”

“I say again, that I mean absolutely no disrespect, it’s just that I truly believe in the importance of what we’re doing here. One can’t help but feel a sense of pride. I’m sure a man as accomplished as you can understand that feeling.”

“Quite,” Arthur smiled as winningly as he was able. Was that what he felt, pride? If that feeling that always niggled low in his chest was pride, then he wasn’t sure why people sought it, relished it.

“Of course the majority of our patients here are simply held for their own good. Minor infringements really, and we help them through rehabilitation programmes to break their addictions to magic, but some, just a few, are where the real research is happening.”

Arthur was being dragged past rooms of drawn faces and hollow eyes, fragile bodies holding even more fragile minds. He had seen people like this when he was younger. He remembered them still, but it was becoming clearer to him that these people weren’t merely sick, they were _defeated_. He was not being given the media friendly tour anymore.

It was only when he walked past unforgettable green eyes and matted black hair that he wanted to stop. He knew that woman, she was a shell of who she had been, but still somehow 4 years hadn’t changed the fire in those eyes. Or was that his imagination?

“Morgana,” he whispered, unsure as he was herded past if that had even been her. Had he been imagining things? Even in his darkest nightmares he hadn’t thought of her ending up somewhere like this. He had assumed she had been sent to some Irish boarding school with her mother’s side of the family. Not this. Never this.

“Are you alright, sire?” His energetic guide asked, “I know that the inmates can be a little shocking to see at first, don’t worry by the time they leave they are completely well again. It’s the same story written over the halls of every hospital ward, except perhaps obstetrics.” He finished with a laugh.

“It’s nothing,” Arthur said, “Just strangely familiar.”

“I do remember that you were here when this place opened.” The professor recalled fondly, “Many improvements in our methods since that time. A lot of good work has come out of our facility I assure you. Unfortunately the face of an addict is the one unchanging image.”

Arthur didn’t speak, the temptation to run back to the room where he was sure he caught a glance of his sister was overwhelming. It was only the all-seeing eyes of the professor that stopped him. If it was Morgana she had to be here for a reason; he might not agree, but he knew what his father would say. In that moment self-preservation told him that it was better to assume he had imagined things than dig up impossible truths that he would be forbidden from changing.

“Come, I’ve lots to show you from our research suites. Quite the range of treatments and management programmes we’re implementing here. For those with high levels of innate magic they are the perfect test subjects. If something works on them, then it’s almost guaranteed to cure the casual user.”

“I’m sorry, innate magic?” Arthur questioned. He had never heard of such a thing.

“Casual language rather than academic I’m afraid.” The professor explained with a smile, barely stopping for breath, “Some magic users seem to have a predisposition to using magic. There are some claims that they have been using magic from birth. I’m not sure I believe those stories, all rather fantastical if you ask me, however they do seem to have a higher degree of control over their ability to use magic than others. I suspect that the real reasoning is simply that they were exposed in the womb and probably addicted at birth. Obviously to test such a thing would be illegal and immoral.”

Arthur was still trying to process the idea of innate magic. How was it possible to ban the use of something that was innate? If people were born able to use magic then how could they be held responsible for crimes they had committed as infants?

The professor either didn’t see Arthur’s dilemma or, equally likely, he didn’t care.

“Here’s one of our prime candidates for new drug trials, a very high ability user.” The professor smiled, “The boy is perfectly under control, but in the interest of maintaining calm I would ask that you don’t speak too loudly. This room is not soundproofed.”

He opened the door to a viewing room with a flourish, a one way mirror and looked through into a grey, sterile room where a young boy was strapped to a table. Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away his eyes were glued to the sight before him as if he were watching a horror film. The room looked little different to any hospital drama surgery that he saw, except that the drugs and the tools were not being used to fix anyone.

The cloudy blue eyes were open, though the dilated pupils suggested the boy had little awareness of his surroundings. His mop of black hair was pushed off his forehead and an examiner held the boy’s chin in his hand twisting the limp face back and forth looking for some unknown signs of _whatever_ it was he was measuring. He rattled of some jargon that   
Arthur couldn’t catch, which was noted down by a second researcher.

“This is a neat little experiment.” The professor whispered next to Arthur, eagerly “It took us a while to develop.”

The researcher started a stopwatch and then ran a clean scalpel slice down the arm of the boy who shifted minutely and groaned. His eyes flickered gold like static on an old television. Arthur didn’t trust himself to speak.

“When a subject is sedated their reflexes take over. They can’t control the level to which they heal themselves, their body will seek to use magic to seal any wounds. As soon as the drug we develop reaches maximum efficacy the wounds remain unhealed. We test every minute from administration of the drug until it takes effect. Thereafter we are able to continue this process every hour or so to see how long the treatment takes to wear off. We tried a range of other tests, but any controllable magical practice such as spellcasting could have led to inaccuracies in the data. This is the best method we’ve found for reliably trialling our treatments.”

“Does it hurt?” Arthur breathed deeply through his nose trying to unclench his jaw.

“Well, I suppose it does in a sense,” the professor seemed unperturbed by this, “The subjects have to feel the pain or the body doesn’t exhibit the same self-preserving response. We tried similar experiments with a range of analgesics and anaesthetics, but the wait times were always unreliable and often inconclusive. We find that by sedating the subject they are able to feel and respond to the pain without engendering severe distress. They barely remember the procedure once the sedative wears off.”

The blood was reversing course flowing back into the arm of the young man, Arthur hesitated to call him a boy; you couldn’t be still called a child when you had lived through something like this. The flesh knitted itself back together. The researcher picked up the boys hand with interest and then sliced through each of his fingertips. The boy whimpered and cried, tears flowing down his face even as he lay there placid.

“What’s his name?”

“The main researcher is Doctor Cenred.” The man said pointing to the researcher with the clipboard, “And his associate, Doctor Alined.”

“Not them,” Arthur fought to not sound and impatient as he felt, “The boy, what is he called?”

“You’ll make a good leader your highness, to care so keenly about even the lowest of your subjects.” Arthur could hear him chuckle, though refused to look in case the temptation to hit him in his smug face was too great. “He has no name that we know of. He was found on the street.”

Arthur accepted this answer as graciously as he could, but still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the nameless ‘subject’. Blood poured out of the repeatedly slice vein, droplets hung like rubies in mid-air before reversing their path. Little white scars littered the boy’s arm, barely visible. So clean that they would heal to nothing. Then, seemingly just for interests’ sake the man took what looked like pliers and tugged none to gently at the boy’s fingernail whereupon he let out a full scream which caused Arthur to jump back from the window.

“I assure you,” the professor repeated, his hand placed briefly on Arthur’s shoulder, “He’s been fully sedated. He won’t even know it’s happening.”

“Who is it who funded this kind of…” _torture_ , “research?”

“You did, your highness.” The professor for once didn’t seem so sure of himself. Arthur finally tore his eyes away from the boy, still groaning under the repeated destruction and healing process, “All of the work done here is funded by the prince’s trust. I had assumed you were given the basic details, even if not the full research papers.”

Arthur shook his head, “I only see the quarterly reports I never…”

He looked back through the window, unable to process the hurricane of thoughts that were swirling through his head in that moment. His money, his hospital, his name. All of this enabled by Arthur. If this was just one subject, in one block of one wing, then what was happening throughout the rest of the building? How many nameless people were being treated as nothing more than lab mice that could be bought at five pounds apiece? Except that there were boards of ethics to be consulted whenever laboratory animals were used in experiments. These supposed men of science had no-one to answer too, no one except Arthur.

His spiral of guilt was broken only by the ringing of the telephone.

“Apologies,” the professor said, fishing in his lab coat for the offending mobile. “This is the company phone. Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing at the door with his thumb.

“No, no. Not at all.”

The rest Arthur hardly knew he was doing. He _had_ wanted to wait for the professor to return. He was going to move on and forget everything he had seen in that room, but he couldn’t. Every second was a cut into his skin equal to the suffering of the person behind the glass. He was knocking on the door to the ‘research’ room and turning the handle.

Doctor Cenred looked up, eyes full of anger, “Who is interrupting… Your majesty.” He demurred as soon as he recognised the intruder.

“My sincerest apologies gentlemen.” Arthur smiled carefully, “Professor Trickler was just introducing me to my new duties as the official KRT liaison officer.”

“Of course,” Alined smiled, standing up and removing his gloves to shake Arthur’s hand. “He should have better informed you of procedure. Any of the work places need to be kept sterile We’ll need to rescrub the room now. Log the data we have so far Doctor, we’ll have to repeat the trial when the drug is out of his system.”

Cenred nodded, jotting down a few more notes before leaving the room.

“I am so sorry!” Arthur gave his profuse apologies, hoping that some sense of sincerity leaked through. “I had no idea you would have to stop on my account.” Some truth there, though he couldn’t truly say he regretted it.

“You weren’t to know.” Alined reassured, “I’ll take you through the formal scrubbing procedure later on. The incision healed so nothing to worry about for now.”

“Shall I take him back to his room, I feel bad for causing you all this trouble.”

“That would be perfect actually, it’s one of the KRT roles anyway. There’s a wheelchair outside, if you can help me transfer him. His room is Block A, 402. Do you know how to get there? I can escort you if needs be.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Arthur hastily undid the straps with the help of Alined. If he was going to do this he couldn’t afford Trickler coming back to stop him. “I’ve got to learn the layout of the hospital anyway.”

“Quite,” Alined looked at his watch as Arthur picked up the surprisingly heavy boy and placed him in the wheelchair. “If this patient is finished for the day, then I actually have time to catch up on some of my paperwork for once. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” He handed Arthur a business card.

He held the door open and Arthur wheeled the limp boy out of the room, “Block A is straight down the end of the corridor and to your left. The rooms are ordered perfectly logically if you get lost.” He placed a clipboard of basic information into the back of the semi-conscious boy’s chair and walked away. Arthur’s smile held right to the second where the office door closed, before his face crumpled like tissue paper.

“I’ll get you out of here.” Arthur whispered as soft as he was able. He couldn’t see any cameras would be watching him, seemingly there was limited surveillance in the research rooms. Plausible deniability he supposed.

He managed to make it to the end of the corridor and into the lift without seeing a single soul. It was there he had a choice to make. He could go back to the ‘subjects’ room pretend the whole thing was a genuine mistake, or he could finish what he started. Before he knew what he was going he had pressed the card for the 4th floor, but nothing happened.

The lift had a swipe device for a key card. A key card Arthur hadn’t been given yet. He tried to press the 5th floor and the 3rd, but none of the buttons worked. Steeling himself he pressed the ground floor button, and the lift whirred into life. Destiny, fate, lift safety protocols had decided for him and he walked towards the exit without daring to look back.

At every turn Arthur questioned, where was the security? Until it dawned on him. _He_ was the security. The security was faulty because of Arthur’s decision. His uniform was the perfect disguise, hiding from everyone whilst being completely visible, because no-one would believe this of him. He passed doctors a nurses with barely a curious glance in his direction.

Everything in his mind was focused towards the main entrance. As soon as he could pass through those double doors with the wheelchair he was free to go. He has succeeded. Except of course the patients would be tagged. Arthur had been so caught up in the urge to escape that he hadn’t even thought of the other security possibilities. As simply as being caught shoplifting, the second the boy was outside the alarms blared.

The boy, who until that point had been hazily drifting along the edges of alertness, suddenly snapped awake. Turning to look behind him before rising out of the chair, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He spat under his breath. “Run.” He commanded, grabbing Arthur’s hand and sprinting as fast as he could towards the closing gate. There were guns that stopped this sort of thing, Arthur knew, but they for whatever reason, encountered no fire.

They ran and they ran, until the hospital was completely hidden from view by the maze of buildings and streets in the area.

“We need to keep running.” Arthur urged when the boy stopped doubled over in the alleyway to catch his breath. “We’re not far enough out yet. They’ll catch up with us in minutes.”

“They’ll never see us if I don’t want them to.” He said, black hair obscuring his eyes as he lent forward. He looked back up at Arthur and the moment of terrible realisation was written on his face.

“Oh my god.” He exclaimed head in his hands, “I had thought you were some charity do-gooder or something. Not the fucking head of the KRT!”

“You don’t need to be scared of me,” Arthur tried to reassure, “I’m not… I’d never… They were hurting you and I thought…”

 “You idiot!” He screamed, “You complete… clotpole! You could have ruined my mission, they’ll be looking for my face now.”

The only thing that went through Arthur’s head before the flash of molten gold sent him to sleep was, “Oh ever-loving fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating roughly monthly seems about my pace apparently.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is captured and bad things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is torture here.

“They kept sedating me,” A voice said, faintly, like static working its way through the haze of unconsciousness Arthur was in. “It was hard trying to keep control of my magic, keep it tamped down, when they dosed me with that shit.”

“But you know what they were doing to you? You have clear images of the buildings and facilities.” A new voice this time. It was softer, perhaps female. It was hard to tell.

There was a silence, as some unspoken communication based between the two that Arthur was as yet unable to see. “I had to actively try to keep the drugs _ in _ my system, or they might have guessed that I was stronger than I was letting on, but I’ve still got a pretty good image. I managed to get a sort of internal map of the building as well.”

“How about getting back in? This particular facility might be too much of a risk, but would others work?”

“I doubt that I would be able to go in like this, not after all their cameras would have caught me being taken away by this idiot.” Arthur couldn’t see, but felt a prickle of indignation at the certainty that this was directed at him. “Maybe the internal cameras would show that I was still sedated though, plausible deniability?”

“Too risky,” the other voice bemoaned, “They’re far more likely to think that you manipulated whoever your ‘rescuer’ was into saving you with magic.” There was another pause, “What do you think of the perceptive abilities of the staff there? Would you be able to maintain a glamour under the influence of these sedatives.”

“Of course, it might take a little practice though. As for the staff, I’ve never seen such a magically deficient group of people. Even if they were efficient at tearing magic apart with science, none of them seemed to possess a shred of ability.”

“I’m not surprised, after his betrayal Uther didn’t exactly make a friend of the magicians of England. I doubt he could hire anyone of ability for fear that they would end up on the wrong side of the operating table.”

That made Arthur wake up  a little more. Some part of him knew that Uther had worked with magic users before Arthur’s birth, but the ban was caused by  _ their _ betrayal. How could anyone claim that Uther had betrayed  _ them? _ And yet there was truth in that voice, bitterness and sadness.

“Not anyone in control of their own faculties at least.” The first voice commented.

“I doubt even that, anyone powerful enough to be of any use to Uther’s  cause would always be too strong to be enslaved by him. Uther was never stupid, he would prefer to kill anyone who was strong enough to pose a threat.”

“So try again, but with a glamour?”

“That will have to work for now, but you’ll need to spend some time recovering I think, build your strength up. I’ll talk to some people, but I may have to change the plan completely.”

Arthur’s eyes slowly drifted open, he was groggy as though waking from sleep, but didn’t feel as terrible as he thought he might considering that for all intents and purposes he had been knocked out by brute force. There didn’t appear to be any major injuries to his head or neck, and despite some general weariness, he seemed to have a reasonable control of his faculties. Perhaps the boy he had rescued (or rather whose plans he had unitentionally destroyed) had more control that Arthur had thought possible.

“So who was this person who was foolhardy enough to try and rescue you?”

There was the soft thud of a bag or rucksack hitting wood and the firm steps moving towards the room where Arthur was being kept. The other, the boy, remained curiously silent, letting the woman find out for herself what had happened and exactly who the mystery rescuer was.

As soon as the door to his room opened, Arthur gave up his foolish notion of trying to look defiant. He really didn’t deserve to look defiant, especially not now facing someone who had been tortured in his name. Standing right before him and the face of thunder on the  young woman who he had opened the door, the futility of that gesture became evident.

“Who have you brought into our home.” She gritted out, directing to the boy behind her, though not taking her eyes away from Arthur’s “He could be bugged. Fuck, you’ve brought the fucking Prince of fucking England and Head of the fucking KRT into our  _ home.”  _ She hissed, finally turning to look around.

“I couldn’t leave him passed out on the street, they might have executed him for helping me.”

The woman’s eyes coldly appraised both Arthur and the boy he had rescued, “Not like you to be sentimental.”

“It was less sentimentality and more practicality. Anyway, he might be useful to us. A bargaining chip.”

“The Prince of England is not a bargaining chip, Merlin! He’s an unlit explosive. It’s only because the prophecy needs him alive that I didn’t kill him on the spot.”

“Please,” Arthur whispered, his throat hoarse and dry, “I…” But he could say no more. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say, but as soon as those all too blue eyes sharply turned on him, he knew it was wise to shut up.

The woman looked surprised, almost as though she had forgotten that he was a real person and not just an image. “He speaks,” She mocked, “That’s good to know, it would be a shame for too much stupid to be gone from this world.”

Despite her cruel tone she brought with her a glass of water and a straw, it didn’t look like some potion, but then again Arthur had no idea of what a potion was supposed to look like. The boy,  _ Merlin, _ stood back and watched this with some disgust on his face. Arthur for his part gave in and took a sip from the offered straw. It looked, smelled and tasted just like water, so he cautiously drank as much as he could before it would be taken away from him. He assumed that it wasn’t poison at least. If they wanted to kill him they would have done it already.

“We’ll have to keep him here, there’s nowhere we could take him right now without leading people to us.” The woman said finally, straightening up and pulling away from Arthur. “Make sure he’s not going to cause us any trouble.”

“Yes, Nimueh.” Merlin acquiesced quickly, a half smile on his lips scaring arthur more than anything else had thus far. Arthur understood exactly what she meant by ensuring that he wouldn’t be causing trouble.

The slow stalking steps that Merlin took towards Arthur held something of a predator in them. He was only a boy in looks, surely eighteen at most. His body was lithe as though he had shot up in height very recently, and yet Arthur was more scared of this boy than any of the KRT he had met in his entire (admittedly short) career. Every movement belied the true power hidden in that frame.

“I promise I had no idea what they were doing there,” Arthur begged “That was my first time ever visiting and I never would have supported anything like that if I had known about it. I don’t have any control over the funds in my name anyway. I don’t want to hurt people I swear!” Arthur let out in on unending breath.

“People hurt us, we hurt people. Naive and idealistic notions don’t factor into this.” Nimueh spoke softly, maliciously, from her place in the shadows at the back of the room

“A bit late to decide you want to be a pacifist.” Merlin added, “Almost as if you didn’t realise that every single CCTV camera would have followed you out of the hospital. You’ve chosen a side, like it or not.”

“I won’t turn you in, or tell anyone about you. I promise. I’ll go into hiding, anything you want.” He all but whispered, but found his tongue held down under its own weight.

“Your promises are meaningless, you can’t leave here. It’s not an option.”

Merlin straddled Arthur’s lap to get as close as he could. Arthur was tied in place, but didn’t even try to struggle out of his bonds, there would be no possibility of escape here. Merlin looked deep into his eyes, scowl on his lips, and grabbed his jaw in his hand.

That was when the entire atmosphere between them seemed to change. The moment skin touched skin, the scowl melted and Merlin’s eyes widened with surprise. Those taught strung muscles relaxed for a heartbeat and Arthur thought he felt time stop. It was something like fire, like burning from the inside out except there was no pain, only warmth and joy. It felt like coming home, and Arthur, blindly stupidly could only say that it felt like  _ destiny _ .

The surprised look on Merlin’s face made him look so much younger, so much softer, but it lasted only a few moments before anger took over that face again. Arthur should have expected the pain when Merlin’s eyes flooded with gold and he brought his hand back. As Merlin’s knuckles cracked across Arthur’s jaw. The instant explosion of pain didn’t pass quickly as normal hits did, but the excruciating pain lived on. Arthur couldn’t even scream as his voice was still held by another force. Rather than fading gradually that fire of pain stopped instantly. leaving Arthur panting and gasping.

Then as though nothing had happened, Merlin calmly and collectedly hovered his hands over Arthur face. His hands were slowly, almost methodically, scanning every single expanse of skin on his body, though Merlin was careful not to touch this time. And whilst Arthur panted in pain he kept his eyes on the other boy’s, whatever he was looking for he didn’t find it.

His hand eventually hovered over Arthur’s heart. With an almost imperceptible nod Arthur found his tongue loosened again. Merlin’s fist clenched and then everything froze inside his chest. He gasped and tried to take deep breaths but oxygen couldn’t get to his brain without his heart beating.

“Who are you working for?” Demanded Merlin, letting go just as Arthur was on the edge of passing out.

“No one!” Arthur cried, but the relief didn’t last long before he died again.

“Who are you working for!?” Merlin demanded harsher this time, before he let go.

“The KRT” Arthur tried again, he would say anything, anything to stop the small deaths from happening.

“That much is fucking obvious,” Merlin said, tightening his grip again, eyes flaring. “Who sent you to get me? Are you a fucking spy?”

“No! No one sent me.” Arthur begged, “You have to believe me, I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Merlin stopped at that surprised for a moment, before looking over his shoulder at Nimueh. Whatever he was searching for he didn’t find, because Arthur was only given a short reprieve before Merlin started his questioning again.

“Why me, why not any of the others? There are hundreds there.”

“I don’t know.” He tried to breath, his lungs felt on fire.

Merlin snarled and gripped tighter than he had before, “Try again, Boyo.”

Arthur didn’t want to die. Not now, not like this. But he didn’t know why he had done it, what he could do to make everything stop. “I just knew I had to.”

Merlin let go at that. Arthur crumbled forward, his forehead finding a resting place on Merlin’s shoulder.

“You  _ knew _ you had to.” The woman asked gently. “You said knew.”

Arthur nodded, though he couldn’t lift his head up from where it had come to rest.

“Why did you say ‘knew’.” Merlin asked, much softer this time, giving Arthur a break from death.

“Instinct?” Arthur wasn’t sure himself, “Not any real reason.”

There was silence, a conference between the two of them that Arthur wasn’t privy to because he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head, but he found he didn’t have to, as Nimueh had walked over to him and with his jaw held in her blood-red talons she brought his eyes up to look into hers.

“Just double-check for me, would you Merlin?” Arthur thought he saw sadness or regret flit across Merlin’s face before the steel shutters came down again. Maybe Arthur was just deluding himself.

“Yes, Nimueh.”

And the death began again. And again. And again.

~*~

When Arthur returned to what felt like reality, he was tucked up in a soft downy bed. A blanket was pulled up to his chin and gentle fingers were stroking his hair. Sparks of warmth were glowing under his skin wherever those fingers were touching.

“Go to sleep, Arthur.”

And so he did.

~*~

Merlin hadn’t enjoyed that. Obviously, a person would have to be a psychopath to  _ really _ enjoy torturing  someone, but normally he could detach. In the beginning righteous anger had fueled him and he still didn’t think he was wrong for that, but after a while he was having to force himself to keep going in order to test Arthur as much as he needed to. Even if it was for Merlin’s own safety, it had felt like cruelty, not protection.

Nimueh hadn’t seemed as affected, but then again she had suffered far more at the hands of the Pendragons than he had. She probably saw too much of Uther in the young prince to be sympathetic. Now that Arthur was resting, and confirmed to be at least safe enough to keep around their home, the two of them regrouped in the main study to try and come up with a new plan.

“I’m binding him to you, Merlin.” Nimueh said, looking over maps and notes. Paper was much safer than electronics. “You’re strong enough to fight if something happens, and I can’t bind him to me whilst I try and salvage whatever is left of our original plan.”

Merlin had things to say about that, complaints about deadweight and risk. But he didn’t say any of them. It wouldn’t  _ hurt _ him to be bound to Arthur, but it would be inconvenient. Arthur would only be able to get ten or fifteen metres from him at any time before the Prince’s heart would stop. It was an effective prison, but meant that even under a glamour, Merlin would be limited in his ability to help the mission. He would be as trapped as Arthur was, unless he ran away and left Arthur to die.

He would do it anyway. His personal preference was not more important than the freedom of all of magic-kind. He had already seen first hand the things were going on in the ‘war’ against magic. He couldn’t let them continue to happen to innocent people.

Nimueh spoke magic softly and lowly, words that she wouldn’t allow Merlin to hear just yet, as she tied Arthur’s heart to his. She put her all into Merlin’s education, but she gave it to him drip by drip, she needed to trust that he had enough control for each spell he used. His magic was wild and strong, that was how she explained it to him. He often produced spells which were overpowered, too effective. If he had tried to forge the bond himself, it would have been likely that Arthur could not leave his side for even a moment.

He could feel the thread of magic drawn from his own core to latch onto Arthur, but rather than feeling like a violation, and invasion of that most sacred part of himself it felt like coming home and Merlin had no idea why. He almost didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to find out why this connection felt as easy as breathing. He didn’t want to put voice to the idea that after less than a day he could feel such loyalty to someone so separate from his own cause.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to leave the house without using a glamour on both you and Arthur. I’m sure you’re strong enough for it, but we both know how hard it is to contain and control yourself when you are in danger.”

Merlin with barely a thought changed his appearance to that of an old wizened man, just to prove how good he was at the glamour. If he could fool nimueh then he could certainly fool some stupid magic-blind KRT member.

“Yes, all very impressive Merlin, but if you could recall, until yesterday you had spent weeks on a reconnaissance mission where you were regularly being tortured under the influence of powerful suppressants.  I think it might be a good idea for you to get some rest.”

“I understand,” he conceded.

She leant forward, smelling of honeysuckle and rose water, to kiss him on the forehead. “Good boy. Make sure you look after our guest.”

“What about our plan?” Merlin asked, almost desperate to know that he hadn’t ruined months of planning  with one stupid move.

“I’ve got to go and check with some of our contacts, we may yet be able to go ahead if their cover hasn’t been blown too. You need to hold the fort. Go over our plans and see if you can find a way to complete this from the outside.” Nimueh ruffled his hair, so affectionate when she wasn’t focused on her position as a military leader. “I trust you, Merlin. We’ll sort this out.”

“When will you be back?”

“Tomorrow night at the very earliest. Possibly later, but I’ll try and get word to you about it as soon as I can.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” she swore, “Be good.”

And with that she left, her entire body taut with power and fury in the way she always looked before a mission. Teeth clenched, perfect lips scowling, eyes ablaze. He knew that there would be hell to pay for what Merlin had gone through in that facility - he just hoped he could enact some of that hell himself.

~*~

Though Arthur’s heart suffered no long term damage (Merlin had made absolute sure of that), he knew that stopping and starting the flow of oxygen around the body was a painful experience that was going to leave the Prince’s muscles as sore as if he had run a marathon, so he felt it was only courteous to let him sleep as long as he could before waking him to drink some water, perhaps eat a little.

It was strange to be nursemaid to someone whom you had set out to quite deliberately harm. It wasn’t as though Merlin could pretend that the whole situation was going to be a walk in the park for Arthur. It was going to be painful, that was the whole  _ point _ of torture, still it settled in his stomach uneasily. It was less about the regret of causing another person pain, although there was always  that, but some part of him that desperately wanted to make sure that Arthur would trust him. He  _ needed _ Arthur to trust him, it was important for some reason.

He didn’t know the reason, or even if there was one, but if there was one thing that Merlin had learned to trust in his time as soldier of the revolt, it was his instincts. All his instincts told him that Arthur was important, his magic wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.

Unfortunately what important meant varied. It could be that he was needed to be the next glorious King of England or it could mean that he had to die as a righteous sacrifice for the cause. Whatever the reason Arthur was needed, it was clear that he was needed alive in that moment.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered, stroking Arthur’s fringe away from his face again, he found it so natural, as though the corn gold locks needed fingers run through them at all times. “Arthur, can you wake up for me.”

Rather than the gentle awakening that Merlin had hoped it would be, Arthur sat bolt upright, almost pushing Merlin off the bed with the force of it. It was clear even that short movement had tired Arthur out completely. “Please don’t hurt me.” 

“Of course not!” Merlin protested, but then again he had no right to be indignant about Arthur’s request. The prince had every reason to think that Merlin intended him harm. He had  _ already _ caused him harm. Merlin was the sort of person who had no compunction about causing people harm when needs be. He was good at it.

Arthur didn’t speak, but looked at Merlin tight-lipped. He was shaking and swaying on the spot, even though he was doing nothing more strenuous than sitting upright.

“I promise I don’t want to hurt you. Let me help you sit up properly.” Merlin, gently moved his hands towards Arthur, as slowly as if he was trying to capture a cornered mouse. Arthur, possibly because he had no other choice or through some strangely misplaced trust in others, let him shift back towards the headboard.

“Thank you,” Arthur offered, unnaturally polite the learned instinct could have been funny, but Arthur looked too scared for Merlin to feel anything but pain. Their bond, both constructed and pre-destined, brought Merlin a sense of Arthur’s anguish that made Merlin feel guilty and irrationally pissed off in equal measure. On the one hand what reason did the cushty Prince of England have to feel sorry for himself, on the other hand Merlin knew exactly what reason he had.

“We’re bonded together now.” Merlin explained after a beat of silence, “That will make it impossible for you to move more than ten metres away from me without causing yourself immense pain or death. That will stay in place until we can figure out what to do with you.”

“Is that what happened when you touched me yesterday.”

Merlin could only stare in silence. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that he had been the only one to register that connection between the two of them. He hadn’t wanted to examine that feeling too closely for fear of what might lie beneath.

“No,” he clipped eventually, “I don’t know what that was.”

Arthur looked as surprised as Merlin had felt yesterday, but quietly stretched his finger out to touch Merlin’s own. The sensation wasn’t the lightning bolt shock that was there yesterday, but it was the same feeling. Merlin was not a seer, but it felt as close to precognition as he had ever come. He snatched his hand away, not wanting that feeling to last any longer. The longer he felt it the harder it was to stay objective.

“I’ll get you some breakfast.”

~*~

“Pretty boy isn’t he? And thigh muscles for days.” Gwen commented low when for the first time in a couple of days Arthur had been able to leave the guest room under his own power to go and eat breakfast at the dining room table. “I used to have such a crush on him when I was little. I think everyone did.”

Merlin nodded along and tried to smile in a possibly suggestive way, to appear normal. Gwen had been a wonderful addition to their group, but occasionally he was reminded that for all intents and purposes Gwen had grown up in a normal home with normal things, like fantasies of becoming the Queen of England and marrying the handsome prince.

It was a bit surreal, Merlin had to admit, that Arthur had been somewhat of a teen sensation only a few years ago. The young prince had been the epitome of a non-threatening male, just the sort to feed tween crushes. Even when he was in the KRT youth programme, he had been a poster child for it; all corn blond hair, white teeth and ocean blue eyes. Those were the media descriptions, not Merlin’s own, and they were splashed all over the front of teen magazines.

It was only recently that someone, probably Uther had started to transform his media image from that of a heartthrob to one of a military leader. For Merlin though, that had never been a transformation. Nimueh had taught him more than enough about the Pendragon family tree and Uther’s succession; he had always known Arthur’s face as a strategic weapon. He had only seen him as the future head of the KRT and therefore a threat to be neutralised in whichever way possible. Even before Nimueh, his mother had tried to avoid all news and information about the Pendragons because the very mention of them upset her so much.

So yes,  _ pretty boy _ was right, but that phrase attached to the greatest weapon in all of Albion seemed like such an opposing view that he couldn’t take it seriously.

“I have a lot of physical training.” Arthur said, acknowledging casually that he could hear the two of them. “That’s why. The thighs thing I mean.”

“I can see that,” Gwen commented, she laughed to herself at being caught gossiping. “I used to have a poster of you on my bedroom wall when I was little before…” she wasn’t laughing anymore. “Well that doesn’t matter. Anyway, it’s nice to see that life’s not been too hard on your looks.”

And Arthur, possibly soft in the head as he was, blushed at the compliment. Merlin had to wonder whether Arthur realised that he was in the headquarters of the most dangerous ‘terrorists’ in all of England. Then again, after they had left the cell, Merlin had more or less tried to treat him like any guest. Was a nice dinner, soft bed and a few cups of tea enough to make someone forget that they had literally been tortured mere days ago?  _ Merlin _ hadn’t forgotten the pain he had gone through. How much had been taken from him by the authorities. It saddened Merlin to think that Arthur had so little affection in his life that getting a cup of tea was enough to buy back his trust.

Merlin therefore could only wiggle his eyebrows in agreement, just to see that blush on Arthur’s cheeks deepen. Gwen, blushed herself before leaving to do something of some importance, no doubt.

Arthur sat, watching Merlin potter around and make tea. The mug that was placed in front of Arthur was taken without hesitation, as though Merlin hadn’t spent a good few hours holding Arthur on the edge of death in a dark cell. As though Arthur wasn’t a prisoner of Merlin (at least in some sense).

“I am sorry, by the way” Merlin said eventually after a period where the silence was only broken by sips of tea. He hadn’t apologised for the hurt he had caused yet and knew it was long overdue.  “I know you probably don’t understand, but our protection here is fragile. I had to make sure of the kind of person you are.”

“If you’re really sorry....” Arthur offered a shrug, generous despite it all.

“You shouldn’t trust me you know.” Merlin tried to voice everything he had been thinking. “I have no idea why you do.”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, _ Merlin _ ” Arthur was so teasing, so lighthearted that Merlin knew he would hate the moment he would have to break it, “Neither do I, but I do, so here we are.”

It felt like it had before, a little like destiny and a lot like something that Merlin had never prepared himself for.

~*~

Arthur wasn’t sure if he  _ did _ trust Merlin. That’s what his logical side kept saying to himself. Expect it was completely a lie. He would trust Merlin with his life, for no reason other than… instinct? That was the closest he could come to explaining it.

He forced himself to rationalise what was going on in his head. On the one hand, trusting Merlin was a bad idea, on the other hand he had so little choice about the matter that it would leave him with more of his sanity intact to believe that Merlin was worth trusting. He hadn’t broken that trust once it had been earned and living on the edge constantly watching your back was exhausting. That was it. That was the reason that Arthur had decided to trust Merlin. Obviously…

“It’s not a complete change of plans.” A woman’s voice spoke. It was Nimueh, Arthur thought. “But it’s been moved forward. I’ve found some people who managed to strip all the data from the computers and scan the important paper files, so we can go ahead and shut these places down. You’ll have to stay behind because of Arthur.”

“He might as well help,” Merlin’s voice argued through the door “He’s not going anywhere without me and he’s got weapons training if something goes wrong. I need to be there, Nimueh.”

“I’m not sure about this.” She replied, “He’s been missing for barely 72 hours. They’ll notice his presence immediately.”

It was strange that she didn’t think he was a threat in any other way.

“He would be as easy to cast a glamour on as anyone, we can trust him to help out.” Merlin pointed out. There was that word again: ‘Trust’. It wasn’t just Arthur who was trusting blindly, apparently so was Merlin. Nimueh had been perfectly reasonable in her original assessment; he really could have been a spy, or a deliberate infiltrator. Merlin had as much reason to trust Arthur as Arthur did to trust him, and that was almost none.

But they did trust each other.

They were so fucking stupid, all of them, and yet Arthur couldn’t bring himself to stop doing it, stop trusting Merlin. He couldn’t let himself trust Nimueh though, and if she was going make plans involving him, then he wanted to be there when they were made.

He pushed the door open, smiling softly as he walked in, hoping to portray as neutral as an expression as he could muster.

“Good morning,” he commented, proud of himself for the lack of shake in his voice. If Nimueh was surprised by Arthur’s unhindered presence in the house then she didn’t show it.

“How well do you know the KRT rounds?” Nimueh instead asked without preamble.

Arthur stuttered for a moment before he was able to compose his reply, “Pretty well, I guess. But it depends on the area. I’m know the outline of most of the Camelot beats, but not the details.”

“That might be enough to help us.” Merlin directed at Nimueh, but she looked skeptical about Arthur’s ability to remember anything of use.

“What we need here is absolute precision, and a seer if we can find one.” Nimueh shook her head, “I appreciate that you want to stay on this mission, my dear, but carrying around dead weight will not be of help to any of us.”

“Near the facility where you found me,” Merlin inquired, assessing whether Arthur would really count as dead weight, “How about there?”

Arthur froze, swallowing uncomfortably against whatever it was that had lodged itself in his throat. “Yeah.”

Nimueh gave him a glance that said all that needed to be said about her faith in his ability to remember the patrols around Camelot.

“Yes.” he added more forcefully, “I know that route, I’m even fairly certain on the details of the shifts.”

“That is if they haven’t changed the route since your disappearance.”

“They won’t have,” Arthur tried to sound certain, “They have enough people all over Camelot that every street is more than adequately covered. There would be no reason to change.”

“Can you show us the route on here then?” Merlin requested, coaxing Arthur to help, but he had already decided for himself. He trusted Merlin, he trusted that Merlin was trying to do what was best. If he was trying to stop facilities like that running, then Arthur would help him in whatever way he could. Every detail he could remember he shared.

~*~

“Gwen,” Merlin said aloud, eyes a sustained gold as he held a conversation that only he could hear, “Turn left, there’s a nook in the wall. Hide stay there for fifteen seconds. The guards should walk past you.”

Through those gold eyes he stared at Arthur, pointing at a space on the map whilst they themselves hid out of sight of the main gate, but with a view of the facility. Arthur nodded.

“Can you hear anything?” Merlin said again, listening for the answer in the silence. “Then come out of the hiding spot and walk straight on. I’ll try and keep a track of you from here, but once it starts you might be on your own.”

“Once what starts?” Arthur asked, the hard set of Merlin’s face the complete antithesis to how he had been acting around him for the past week. Merlin shushed him harshly, but said no more.

“Gwen?” He asked the thin air, still tracing the route Arthur had given them on the map, “Gwen can you hear me? Gwen if you can hear me turn right and keep walking quickly.”

“Is everything alright?” Arthur asked, expecting to be shushed again.

“The connection’s still open but she’s not saying anything. I don’t know if that means she’s fine or not.” He looked scared and small then. Every bit the young teenager that he should have been, rather than the soldier he had become. Arthur knew that face well.

“Can’t you….” Arthur made a vague wiggling motion with his fingers.

“Not without breaking the connection between everyone.” Merlin snapped, “and I can’t risk that right now.”

They were only at one of the many facilities around Camelot. Arthur didn’t know all the people involved. Aside from Nimueh, he doubted that  _ anyone _ knew all the people involved. Arthur himself only knew that Merlin was trying to keep the connection open between everyone from a reasonably central location. Arthur’s only role was to stand close to Merlin so he didn’t die and ensure that he didn’t forget the route.

“Gwen”, Merlin said, “You  should be there now. You’ve got sixty seconds to set the charges then you have to run back down the same route. Understand?”

There was silence again, but Merlin seemed satisfied. Then it hit him.

“Wait, charges? As in explosives?” 

“What did you think we were doing here?” Merlin snapped, “I told you we were bringing these places down. Did you think we were going to hold hands and sing kumbaya. We blow them up, they stop working.”

“But people will get hurt, or die.” Arthur stuttered this as if it wasn’t obvious, but Merlin ignored him and continued to give short instructions within the group that Arthur couldn’t hear.

“I’ve got to stop this.” He said to himself, Merlin had said that there would be seconds left to Gwen, he had to act fast.

“You won’t be able to get close enough before you pass out or die.” Merlin was almost glib as he stared blankly ahead, listening.

“Then I’ll make you come with me!” Arthur yelled, threatening.

Merlin laughed in a single short mirthless burst, “I’d like to see you try.”

An Arthur could only watch on horrified, because he knew without a doubt that it was true.

“Ten, nine, eight…” Merlin counted down, but Arthur couldn’t hear him over the panicked ringing in his ears. it was as though a cloud of silence had descended over everything. He couldn’t hear.

He saw the explosion in front of him, but he felt it more than heard it. The buildings themselves didn’t seem that badly damaged, until the fires started and flowed through the buildings like water. Merlin slowly walked behind him towards the building as people flooded from it like ants. Those who could leave that was, it was clear that many people wouldn’t leave at all. He turned around, hoping that something of what was happening would register, that he would show  _ something  _ akin to remorse.

But all Merlin did was watch, detached.  He stared on fire reflecting in his still eyes as the entire place are burned.

“It’s better to die, than live your entire life in one of those places.”

“And you get to make that choice do you?” Arthur tried to argue, unable to find the words for every rational argument he knew had to exist.

“I have just as much power to make that choice as you do. Perhaps even less, your Royal Highness.” Merlin’s lip curled in disgust, unable to disguise it for the briefest of seconds.

“But my  _ sister _ was in there.” Arthur pled, trying to make Merlin understand the severity of what he had done. Trying to get him to fix the damage, reverse what he had done, stop the fires from raging.

“So was my father.” He said with no emotion, “Get over yourself.”

Arthur had no reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me so long to write, it was a really difficult chapter for me to try and complete, and it felt so jumpy. I hope you enjoyed anyway! (Is enjoy the right word here...)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a destiny becomes unclouded.

Arthur woke in the night to the sounds of sobbing. He woke disoriented, it was hard to remember that this wasn’t his home, let alone that the events of last night were not a dream, but a terrible, tragic reality. That they had done all of that, and then simply returned home to sleep the efforts of the evening off. The feeling of another body lying next to his was yet another off-putting sensation. He was used to being blissfully and painfully alone most of the time.

It could have been either of two things that woke him; the noise or the shaking, yet somehow he knew it was neither of these things. His body simply knew that he had to be awake at that moment.

He wanted to rage. He wanted to let Merlin suffer, because he  _ deserved  _ it. Merlin was a mass murderer. No matter what Merlin had said about him, Arthur hadn’t killed a single thing in his life. He was more likely to catch a spider in a can and throw it out of the window than stomp on it.

Arthur had been the one who had stood by and watched as people died though. Time after time, with so many people. And he’d done it again yesterday.

Merlin was right, he had all the power than any magic user had, and more besides.

He found himself placing his hand on the shoulder of the crying man. Crying boy, god he was just a boy really wasn’t he? Mass murderer or not, he was still so young.

“Merlin? Are you awake?” Of course he was awake, even if crying in his sleep he would have woken himself up by now. Arthur could  _ feel _ that he was awake, but it seemed like a courtesy to ask, though perhaps one that wasn’t deserved and maybe equally it might be one that was not desired. If Arthur was left with nothing else in this world, he had courtesy.

He was sure that Merlin was going to pretend that he hadn't heard Arthur. He hadn’t survived this long by showing his real raw emotions to someone who could still all too easily be the enemy. Even if Arthur had helped them in their mission, that didn’t mean that he had the trust of the magicians. 

Instead Arthur was almost shocked into a scream as Merlin turned over and buried himself into his  side. Arthur froze still, the arm that had been outstretched, now limply enveloping Merlin’s wracked body.

“I wasn’t sure he was gone.” Merlin babbled, catatonic with grief. “I knew he was strong, I was hoping that it wouldn’t be. I didn’t want to do it. Of course I didn’t.”

Arthur sat up, pulling Merlin into his lap, curling his arms around the boy and tucking him into his chest.

“Oh god, he only just died.” Merlin moaned brokenly, “How long did that take? Did anyone even help him? Was it burns, or crushing or smoke? It’s been hours and I’ve just been _ sleeping _ . I didn’t even _ look _ for him.”

Arthur started rocking back and forth with Merlin cradled like a child. Hushing as Merlin descended back into wordless sobs. He stroked a thumb against the curve of Merlin’s neck, that strange bond between them sparkling at every brush, but this one, unlike the last, was feeding a sense of calm. Bringing together between them the idea that they could help each other.

Some small dark corner of Arthur’s mind thought of Morgana. He tried not to, it wasn’t his turn to fall apart. He had done some of that last night, and when the story hit the newsstands in the morning he would let himself think on her again, but this was Merlin’s time to be weak and fragile. The only moments where Merlin was able to be anything but a soldier were in the dark seconds of the midnight hour. The darkest point of the day was all that Merlin could take to let himself succumb to the reality that was around them.

He wasn’t purely callus as he had pretended himself to be the day before, and Arthur wasn’t going to jeopardize that momentary show of weakness by speaking about his own problems and his own losses.

But there was no space for condolences either. Merlin had both brought this upon himself, and had this life thrust on him by circumstances beyond his control. They may have been beyond Arthur’s control at that moment as well, but there was little to be gained from pretending that it would get better. It might get better eventually, but for Merlin life had continued to grow from bad to worse, he was trying to bring down a system of which Arthur was the figurehead by doing things differently. Things might never get better and in no way was Arthur entitled to belittle these problems by treating them as simple teenage drama. These were governments and people and organisations fiercely opposed to Merlin’s very being.

He hated and pitied him equally in that moment. Any condolence he could utter would emphasise both of those feelings. Merlin wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him for expressing either one.

Merlin did need comfort though, words would not be welcomed, especially when they would only remind him that the deaths were all on his hands, but being silent together might help. The only real help Arthur could give was practical help. That would be the only useful and welcome thing he could manage. So he held him until the crying calmed to silent hot tears.

He had been crying, sobbing uncontrollably. So he needed water. His face was likely puffy and sore from the salt tears. His head was probably throbbing with the force of his emotions. Arthur could feel all of these things somehow, as if they were linked to him too.

The best place to fix all of those problems was the bathroom. Merlin was light in his arms, and Knowing that they wouldn’t be able to separate from each other he carried him to the nearest bathroom.He deposited Merlin as softly as he could onto the edge of the small bathtub. Merlin almost protested, both the letting go of Arthur, and the being treated like a child, before it was clear that he couldn’t have it both ways. So instead he sat relatively quietly, sobs breaking through his chest on occasion, and curling his arms around himself in lieu of clinging to Arthur.

“Drink this.” Arthur instructed, filling one of the glasses from the tap. He handed it over to Merlin with barely a word and then started looking in the cabinets for something recognisable.

Merlin took it, barely flicking his eyes up to look at Arthur, before silently focusing on the glass and finishing it on one smooth draw. Putting it down precariously beside him on the edge of the tub. He sighed deeply, but Arthur intervened before he could curl back in on himself.

“Take these.” He offered two small white painkillers to Merlin who opened the palm of his hand to accept them. Arthur filled the glass again and handed it back. He took them without question, not that Arthur could have harmed him with the contents of Merlin’s own bathroom, but there was still and unspoken trust there, despite everything they had just gone through. Once Merlin had finished the second glass, Arthur ran a flannel under water, getting it as cold as he could from the tap, and gently pressed it to the red blotches under Merlin’s eyes, trying to soothe them.

“You do realise I’ve already killed you once.” Merlin gave one hollow laugh whilst sitting up to let Arthur attend to him.

“Well it was only for a brief moment.”

“I’ve supervised the killing of dozens of people today. Probably including your sister.”

“And I was the head of the group torturing them on a daily basis. I watched a man get kicked to death and said nothing. I think we’ve both committed our share of human rights atrocities for the day haven’t we?”

“I’ll almost certainly kill people again.”

“I know. But that’s another day. For now, you’ve suffered a great trauma. Let’s focus on that.”

Arthur leaned to place a soft kiss on the warm forehead in front of him. There was little to have made Arthur think to do it, except for the lingering memory of someone doing that to him fondly, perhaps in his sleep. In his mind it was his mother, but he knew that wasn’t possible, she had died just as Arthur himself had taken his first breath, there wouldn’t have been time for her to hold him, let alone treat him with any affection. Perhaps it was a dream, or perhaps a kind nanny, but there it was anyway, the thing he felt like he should do. Maybe it wasn’t even his memory at all. There was a blurring of the lines between his mind and Merlin’s mind that he had never felt before.

“Do you want me to carry you back?” Arthur asked.

“I could life this entire house from its foundations with a single thought.” Merlin reminded,

“I didn’t ask if you were physically capable of walking on your own. I asked if you  _ wanted _ to be carried.”

Merlin didn’t speak, but instead nodded and placed his arms around Arthur’s neck for support. Neither of them had been used to wanting things, Arthur was almost certain. The two of them were focused on things that they felt they had to do for the good of their people and their country. For the approval of their teachers and their guardians. They were entitled to  _ want _ something for once. They had both suffered enough. They had both sacrificed enough of their lives to causes that broke and used them up and spit them out.

Merlin was asleep before Arthur had taken his first step, and then, softly as not to wake him, took one foot in front of the other until they collapsed into blessed unconsciousness.

~*~

Merlin woke for the second time with his mask firmly in place. Internally he was both terrified and embarrassed. He had become so needy around Arthur because of something he had entirely done to himself. He had let his guard down in the worst sort of way and he could only hope that Arthur didn’t hold onto that memory for long, or that those fleeting moments didn’t have longer repercussions.

But that wasn’t the most of his worries. He had just killed a lot of people (or rather had let Nimueh kill a lot of people and facilitate her actions) and there would be consequences. Nimueh alway had a plan, but he needed to know where they were going to head next. And in addition this  _ thing _ with Arthur was becoming more and more solidified. He swore he could almost hear what Arthur was thinking in his sleep.

He needed the druids for both of those reasons. On the one hand they would know what this thing with Arthur truly was. On the other hand he was almost certain that whoever died last night, a handful at least had to be druid. Despite being a outwardly peaceful people, they were fiercely protective of their own, and they were being backed further and further into a corner day by day by Uther and his ruthless KRT. He had a responsibility to fix what had happened. Or at least to smooth things over, to let them know as much as possible that he had done what was for the greater good.

Some part of him hoped that if he had been planning something that was counter to the druid’s own interest, then they would have foreseen it and stopped him. As a culture and a people they had a far greater than average number of seers. Such a great and devastating task would have been foreseen by them if it had any negative consequence, surely. 

If the consequences were anything more negative than the status quo at any rate. Their spirituality was almost pragmatic: everything from the earth and too the earth from whence it came. If they believed that then perhaps they would understand that sacrifices had to be made. Even painful and devastating sacrifices. Sacrifices like Merlin’s own… No he wouldn’t think about it.

He knew that was probably overly naive on both accounts. Firstly, the sight didn’t work that way, and even if it did, what power would the druids have in the center of camelot itself, where magic was not just outlawed, but actively hunted and suppressed? Second, they believed in more than the cycle of life, they believed that everything had its rightful place and its rightful time. A druid had the right to choose his own time and his own place, which was more often than not, the forests in which they were born and raised. Trapped beneath piles of burning concrete in a facility that sought to strip them of the very thing they held most dear was neither the right place or the right time.

Merlin simply had to hope that if they were upset by the situation, they would be more upset that their fellow druids were trapped in a place so far removed from everything they loved and cherished, and would therefore overlook the terrible demise that came from the rebellion’s actions.

He had so much to fix and smooth over with them, but he feared meeting with them. It was normally Nimueh’s task, but he knew that she would need backup after such a decisive blow as this. Nimueh spoke at times somewhat ambiguously of what Merlin meant to the druid people. They were prone to prophecy that was to be carried out many generations after the words were spoken, and yet she was so certain that Merlin was the culmination of one of the earliest prophetic utterances of its kind. 

Emrys. Since the very first moments with Nimueh almost as soon as he had laid eyes on her she insisted that it was him. She said that only the druids could truly confirm it, but she knew, and despite everything, Merlin had rarely see her be wrong. He didn’t want to meet the druids in case they were correct.

_ ‘I don’t know it in detail’ Nimueh had once said to him, ‘the druids are protective of their prophecies, they tend to only share them as they see them about to come to fruition, but this one is so old and of such importance that when it was passed down, from generation to generation, the whispers of it were spread far and wide. Some on the wind, some merely rumour, some from those rare druids who chose to tell, but the point stood that throughout the magic in this land everyone foresaw this time coming, and who would come and fix it. _

_ ‘When the hour is darkest’ Nimueh’s tone changed, clearly quoting something or someone, ‘a child will come who will be born of the purest magic in his blood and he will break the bonds of magic. He will free the beast and free the people and let magic fly. And his power will be great and terrible.’ _

_ Then Nimueh had smiled and shrugged, trying to make somewhat light of the situation. ‘Old prophecies were always so dramatic. Obviously the wording is old, too. When it says terrible, it probably means terrible in the original sense of the word meaning strong or astounding. Perhaps great. I may not be a druid, but I still consider myself a high priest of the old religion. That was what I was raised to, that was my calling and my mission in life before all of this horror wrought by the Pendragon line. I know what I felt when I saw you the first time. I know what I still feel now. Small and young you may be, my dragon lord in training, but you  _ are _ the Emrys of legend. The one spoken of. _

_ ‘I shan't treat you differently to anyone else. I believe that prophecies will come no matter what we try to do to prevent them or change them. You are only, merely and perfectly yourself. But yourself is a great well of potential my dear. Do try to remember that.’ _

Merlin never knew why Nimueh chose to share her beliefs with him. He had never wanted to be seen as anything other than normal. Even among all of those being born with magic it seemed to him as though he was supposed to be outside the realms of normality. There was nothing he wanted less. Perhaps it was this desire, perhaps he had been thirteen, fourteen, training for the fight that was forever on his front door when he snapped. Perhaps he had cried, perhaps he had screamed, perhaps he had merely sulked in silence; he couldn’t exactly remember, but he knew from that day of Nimueh’s belief in him, her belief in his role in the cause and what he would ultimately become for all of them. 

Whilst she had said that he would only ever achieve that role by simply being himself, he couldn’t help but see it as a badge, a blazon that he had someone pin to his chest. He believed in the cause so much, and the importance of serving it no matter what the cost. If Nimueh believed that this was the price he had to pay, the role he had to take, the person he had to be, then by simply telling him that Merlin was  _ probably _ Emrys, he had taken that role to heart.

That didn’t mean that he didn’t wish with all his heart that he wasn’t Emrys, that it was some fanciful notion of Nimueh’s, but he knew he still had to live up to this strong potential as if he  _ were _ Emrys. If it turned out that he had to play that role, when he knew none of the lines, none of his parts, then everything would fail.

For now his role was simply this; he was Nimueh protege and right hand man. He would bend to her will and he trusted her judgement. 

But there were some things that even she wasn’t able to tell him. And some things that he felt that he couldn’t even tell her.

The feeling of his father’s… death. He had to get it over with and say it. His father’s tragic untimely and horrific death, had burned through him. Waking him, sending him rocketing into Arthur’s arms in grief. How would he ever be able to share that with Nimueh? Nimueh had lost the love of her life, her entire family and everyone she had known, bar a precious few, to the anger orchestrated by the Pendragons, and she would not be impressed by him crying over the loss of one single person. One person who he had never met in his living memory, and not only that, but he had let himself be taken in by Arthur for comfort.

How could he share that there was some deep connection with Arthur that made him desperate to protect, to serve, to facilitate all of Arthurs, plans and needs?

Those would be two blows to everything that she had suffered for and fought against in quick succession.

So that was it. He had no choice. He either stayed silent, and never understood what was happening, or he spoke to the druids, and possibly found himself to be Emrys, or not to be Emrys. (Having in the back of his mind prepared for the first eventuality, he was almost scared for either to be the case. If  _ he _ wasn’t Emrys, then he had wasted Nimueh’s precious time, and the real Emrys was still out there needing to be brought into the fold, trained and protected.

No option was a good option. So there he still was; sitting in bed, mentally preparing himself to share and receive more revelations than he felt he could deal with.

What was it that normal sixteen year olds should be doing again? He was pretty sure that they weren’t particularly supposed to be planning on sharing with an old respected tribe that; ‘Hello, I’ve probably murdered several of your own, but by the way can you confirm to me whether I am the one the legends spoke of? And if you don’t mind why do I have this frighteningly strong instant connection to the mortal enemy of everyone here present?

‘Cheers, cup of tea anyone?’

He placed his head in his hands. Just closing his eyes for a moment to try and gather his thoughts. Where could he truly go from here? Should he tell Nimueh that he planned on meeting with the druids? Should he simply join in when she met with them? Should he leave Camelot to go and find them, should he, should he, should he?

He watched Arthur, still blissfully asleep and unaware of the myriad of thoughts that were rushing around Merlin’s skull and envied him. He hoped, against his better judgement, for the next night, when perhaps in that brief cover of darkness he could be honest again, he could be himself again, and this pain might begin to lessen.

~*~

Arthur didn’t know what to make of Merlin when he woke up again. He was, on the one hand, grateful for this glimpse of humanity in the young man. Arthur wanted to know that the deaths they had helped cause (Arthur couldn’t wash himself of the blame now he had had time to think on it) had affected Merlin as much as they had shocked and appalled Arthur. Now he had some proof of Merlin’s own devastation. However, some deep and shockingly powerful instinct welling up inside him knew that Merlin was beyond Arthur’s limited experience of importance, and he had to protect him against everything in the world, even himself. If Merlin was not protected then Arthur and everything he wanted to build would fall.

It was stupid and irrational, but that was how he felt, and now in the wake of seeing a mussed up and tired-eyed Merlin clutching woefully to a cup of coffee, even if his face was set hard again, Arthur could see that pain still lingering behind his eyes, Arthur wanted to do nothing more than bend to Merlin’s every wish.

He wouldn’t, he would be more careful with his help now than ever. He had to remember that he was a hostage here, and no matter what he thought about their cause, and despite everything, despite the  _ rightness _ of it. The rightness of all of Arthur’s subjects having a freedom to live and exist and simply be who they were without fear of death was ingrained in him from birth. Uther had always told him that their job was to protect and care for their people.

Merlin was saying exactly the same thing, but he now thought that Merlin and Nimueh had a point, that trying to protect his people by villinising one small group of his own was as wrong as it was possible to be. But by killing and hurting others, Merlin had purportraited the exact kind of terrible crime that Uther was so scared of. He had in a sense justified everything that Arthur had ever been told about the unchecked and unregulated power that magic users could wield.

And yet, looking at Merlin’s world, looking at this set up of events, looking at the lens of those who had been killed and institutionalised for even the meanest of magical uses, it was no longer easy to separate the two sets of injustices.

He would have to create his own morality. It was already hovering in his churning mind, little more than a formless mist right now, but he thought that, maybe there only thing that mattered is that people were free to do whatever they liked as long as no one got hurt.

He had no role model now, no-one in his life who represented what he really wanted. So instead he would just have to live in the world he occupied in that moment. He would live in a world where Merlin was idealistic, but sought his freedom through machiavellian means, and where everything he learned from his father still held the truth of Arthur’s own motivation, but was corrupted by a prejudice that Arthur was now having to unlearn.

He said none of this to Merlin, though he knew the other boy might have easily been able to feel it through their connection, and instead he placed a hand on the back of Merlin’s neck as he walked passed him to get his own coffee and delighted in the spasming twitch that it caused. 

For a second there was something unguarded in Merlin’s eyes as he looked at him. So brief, but Arthur liked it. He liked knowing that not all the power between them was in Merlin’s hands, that he had the power to surprise and throw Merlin off balance too.

~*~

When Merlin had got word from a Nimueh that she had to lay low in another safehold until the patrols died down, which could take days if not weeks, Merlin instantly knew he’d been relegated to babysitting duty. She couldn’t even tell him where he was through the telepathic line that she had connected in the event that Uther’s men and the KRT had some way of tapping into the line. They still had very little intel on whether Uther had any magicians in his employ, but they couldn’t risk it. The facility where Merlin had let himself be held gave enough of an indication that they were trying to harness the power that magic users held without giving them any autonomy. So for now, Nimueh was only able to share the meanest amount of information and then the line was cut.

He tried to be annoyed by it, but he had already been part of babysitting duty for the better part of a fortnight already, and even whilst his fingers itched to so  _ something _ useful, he was almost delighted by the break. He could  _ be _ with Arthur without the fear of Nimueh’s reaction.

There was some chance that he would be clawing at the walls in a couple of days time, but for now, it was nice to think that he could get his mind and his strength back and have a  _ reason _ not to face the world. He was not going to be expected to sit and do nothing. He would be expected to research and plan for whatever strike came next, but he would be grateful for that too when the time came.

That just left a day of doing nothing important, of saving his reserves and preparing himself for the days and weeks ahead.

He started by walking back into the room, leaving Arthur sitting at the table whist pottering around the kitchen clearing plates and cleaning glasses. He contemplated what else his meditative state of tinkering around the kitchen was conducive to, mopping, sweeping? Did they even have a mop?

He finally let himself glance at Arthur, he had been making himself avoid it, because he didn’t want to admit that he  _ wanted _ to look. When he did he could see the way Arthur had been watching him in turn. There was that question on his lips that Merlin could understand without needing to hear it.

Arthur opened his mouth a couple of times, as if trying to decide whether to ask the question or not. He finally took a breath to ask, “Why…” but then he stopped, thinking better than to finish asking the question that was on his mind. Merlin’s answering glance was a little withering, although he didn’t feel as annoyed by it as he would have been if Arthur had voiced the inevitable question of:  _ why would you bother to do this by hand.  _ Such a question only had one acceptable answer: It’s none of your fucking business why or how I use my own magic and you  _ especially  _ are not entitled to ask me anything of the sort. 

Or at least not during the daylight hours.

Arthur realised that even beginning to ask the question was a bad idea, and then closed his mouth and shook his head gently, dismissing the idea that he had even been attempting to ask a question, Merlin could feel it in some unknowable corner of his own mind. There was a small soft smile on his lips and Merlin had to glance away. How could he dare to act so domestic and content, when people had died, when Merlin was barely holding himself together by completing mundane housekeeping chores?

How dare he seem so at peace when he was the driving force behind all that was wrong with their city? He scrubbed the plates with ferocity at the thought. Merlin wasn’t sure of the details, he hadn’t been born at the time, but he knew that the purge and the onslaught of violence and death directed towards his people started on the day of Arthur’s own birth.

That brought him up short, self admonishment and embarrassment coloured his cheeks as he realised what he had thought. 

That, at least, wasn’t Arthur’s fault

He didn’t ask to be born into that house, into that life or into that station, but still. Maybe Merlin didn’t want to think rationally about it. He went back to the cupboard, finding a cloth to wipe down and bleach the countertops. He eventually looked back at Arthur again, eyes inevitably drawn towards the other boy. Arthur was simply sitting, idly tapping his fingers silently on the counter in a inconsequential rhythm.  Merlin couldn’t kid himself, Arthur had shown himself to be anything other than the harbinger of destruction that Merlin had wanted him to be. Hating him just wasn’t a realistic option. Even the cold indifference he had been trying didn’t seem to work.

Arthur had been so genuinely helpful, even in the wake of their first terrible day together, Arthur had been immediately considerate and unfazed. He was not the sort of person Merlin wanted around his home, but now that he was here, he couldn’t say that he was sad for it.

“Do you want any help?” Arthur offered, an open ended invitation which he must have been aware would have allowed Merlin to take complete advantage of him. Words were so powerful and had to be chosen carefully.

“No,” Merlin shook his head, and tried to smile in turn, “No, just stay there. We’ve nothing to do today.”

~*~

The days that followed were filled with silence and calm. With Nimueh gone Arthur’s ever present fear softened. Though he couldn't pretend that Merlin didn’t terrify him at times, he knew at least that the fire in his eyes was borne of righteous justice, rather than a desire for revenge on the Pendragon line. Only some vague notion of destiny protected Arthur from the priestess’s torment. To be spared that, at least a little, seemed practically like a holiday.

Merlin continued to sleep fitfully in the days that followed, though he was never as vulnerable as he had been on that first night, and when he inevitably woke himself from whatever nightmare plagued him, Arthur had been there too.

The second night after the explosions, Merlin had awoken with a sudden gasp. Arthur was unsure of what he could expect. He had stared into those old eyes, and thought perhaps that silence was all that he could hope for. Minutes passed and perhaps Arthur could fall asleep counting Merlin’s eyelashes, but then Merlin whispered.

“Do you miss your mother?” Arthur was silent for long moments, he felt as though he should speak, but Merlin wasn’t done, he knew. “Even though you never knew her, do you miss what could have been?”

“Sometimes?” Arthur shifted, curveing himself into Merlin’s space, their knees almost touched each other as the bright moonlight in the illuminated the angles of their faces. “Maybe? I don’t miss her as much as I just… daydream sometime. I wish things were different sometimes.”

“Everytime I wish for something to be different, a bigger part of me says that I’m being selfish for it. What right would I have to a better life, a simpler life, when everyone else is suffering.”

“It’s not selfish.” Arthur insisted, though he himself knew that feeling all too well. He inched his fingers towards Merlin’s though stopped short of taking the other man’s hand, “Only your actions can be selfish, your thoughts aren’t anything but thoughts.”

“I’m not sure my actions would be selfless if I thought I had a choice.”

Destiny, life, love, family… Arthur thought  that all his subjects should and would have a choice to those things in his realm, but hadn’t he thought the same things time and again throughout his own life? He had always thought that choice was reserved for other people. He had told himself that he couldn’t tell others that they were able to have a choice, if he didn’t acknowledge that sometimes choices are made for others. The choices they had weren’t much of choices at all, obey or escape.

Maybe it wasn’t much of a choice, but they still chose it. Maybe they were limited in their futures, but they had that option. Escape, leave, abandon all and let the world sort out its own messes.

Maybe that little sliver of power that they held in that most basic of choice was enough to keep the two of them fighting.

Maybe they would never have the answer.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Arthur ventured into the resulting stillness.

Merlin stared wide eyed at him until a single startled peal of laughter burst forth from his lips. “Dictionary definition of non-sequitur brought to you today by Prince Arthur Pendragon.”

“Well, you never know what information might be important in the future. What if you got replaced by a pod person, I would have to ask questions to establish your true identity. This could be of vital importance.”

“I never really made time to think about it,” Merlin admitted, and Arthur grew a little sad again, every young child thought about their favourite colours. “I suppose, if I had to say, maybe blue?”

“Me too,” Arthur smiled, “Though I’m growing partial to gold.”

“Of course you would, you bloody narcissist. Camelot's own golden princeling.”

Arthur had to laugh at that again, clearly Merlin had never looked in a mirror, the gold in him was brighter than any poor imitation that Arthur could scrounge together.

They spoke softly, of things of little consequence, of things they hoped and dreamed and forever wished for. That first night had opened the floodgates and the single night turned to two, turned to three turned to two weeks of secrets shared and connections built.

~*~

The days were not the calm peace that the nights brought, whilst Merlin had told the truth that they had nothing to do that first day, the days following started the next mission, the next lot of research to complete and the next life of inquiry into what was happening in the city.

It was ARthur’s city, Arthur’s home and he thought he knew it and yet… and yet.

The place he thought was home was a monster, eating itself from the inside, tearing itself apart, biting off its own right hand to release it from the trap of its left. Arthur had never seen it, never known it until now. He had thought that the KRT, despite some of the things he had seen, were mostly there for the good of everyone. They kept peace and kept order. They kept people safe and generally had good intention, but multiple sources across the city were terrified, there were riots, brutality, deaths and lynch mobs. There were things that Merlin shrugged off as nothing more than the life of Camelot, but to Arthur they were nightmares.

It had been his whole life, he whole world and he didn’t know it at all.

The more revelations of horror the day brought, the more he fell into the secret whisperings of the midnight hour, and the more that Merlin brought him careening into a world of fear, the more he clung to the other boy.

And the days ran on.

~*~

The thing with seers was that they had the terrible habit of coming to you first.

Nimueh had returned the day before, only speaking to Merlin long enough to reassure him of her continued health before she collapsed into a deep sleep that betrayed her words. Arthur hadn’t made comment about it, and for that Merlin had been immensely grateful, but now she had returned, he knew her next plan would be to seek the druids to fix the relationship between the two groups.

Merlin had spent far too long stoically waiting for Arthur to be done with his morning ablutions, and working up the courage to find Nimueh and see how long it would be before she left again, or to ask if she would let him go with her to see the druids as well, when he almost jumped out of his skin to see a small boy sitting at his kitchen table. This boy was pale, with sharp eyes and contrasting dark hair, almost made Merlin believe he was hallucinating, when a voice spoke in his head.

_ It’s good to meet you Emrys. _

“Who are you and how the hell did you get into my home?” Merlin was startled, he knew that this boy had to be a magic user, and therefore  _ should _ have been trusted and welcome here, but that didn’t change the fact that there were strong wards and passwords around this building, that a small child could seemingly get past them unaided was terrifying.

_ I wasn’t unaided Emrys, but I’m flattered that you could think so highly of me. I am with Cerdan, he said I was too young to sit in with him for this conversation with the priestess. Although I already think I know what she has to say, I felt them die just as you did. _

“I am sorry that it was necessary.” Merlin offered no explanation or rationalisation. This child would either understand or he wouldn’t, there was little that Merlin could say to change that at this point.

“What?” A surprised voice came, “He didn’t answer you and now your apologising to him. What could you even apologise about if he didn’t speak to you?”

Arthur. Merlin kept almost forgetting he was there, so ingrained had his presence become under Merlin’s skin that it felt as natural as not thinking about the presence of one's own arms.

“He did answer,” he commented, tapping gently at his own temple with a single finger.

“Oh?” Arthur said questioningly, and then he sat bolt upright, a change in understanding blending it’s way across his face, “Oh. I suppose, it’s good to meet you too considering the circumstances.” Arthur had decades of etiquette training behind him when it came to acting politely around complete strangers, but he could not be used to the invasion of mind that came so naturally to even the youngest of druid children. Theirs was a silent people, so easy could they speak to one another in this fashion.

The child gave a single weak cough, his voice when it eventually passed his lips, was strained, underused. What was the point of speaking words that could so easily be twisted or misrepresented, when sharing your thoughts directly with others to their minds was so much more efficient?

“I think it might be more polite if I speak out loud for our distinguished royal guest.” Even at such a young age the boy, Mordred (Merlin’s mind somehow supplied), had well mastered sarcasm. It was even more surprising to Merlin that there seemed to be some genuine deference. As though, despite all the Pendragon line had done to the boy’s people, he did respect Arthur’s status and position and future leader of the country.

Merlin, who knew still that he had a lot to condone for where the Druids were concerened, wanted to give the boy as much comfort and freedom as possible. “You don’t have to do that on our behalf.” He placated, “even if it’s unusual Arthur will quickly get used to your method of talking.” He then gave a sharp glance to Arthur, daring him to say any different.

Arthur only, smiled kindly and reassuringly and nodded. It hit Merlin all over again, that it was this man, so supposedly terrible, who stood for so much that threatened Merlin’s very life for simply existing, was so easily agreeable even in the face of people invading his mind and slaughtering his subjects. So terrible was he, and yet showed such goodness. How had Merlin been so quick to kill him all those week ago?

_ Because I do exactly as I’m told, just as he always did exactly as he was told. We’ve forever been just a men following orders.  _ Merlin was saddened by that intrusive thought, to be raised your entire life to believe in the lies of one psychopath and to know your role as merely a beautiful face on which the nation's hopes and trust was built. Not to think for himself, or speak out of turn, but simply to exist as a paper image of a person. It made it harder and harder to hate Arthur.

It didn’t always make it easy to like him either. Who could he care about someone who let himself behave as such an empty vessel? He hated the very question because whenever he thought it, it hit a little too close to the bone.

Mordred in response to this overwhelming politeness, flushed high on his cheeks with embarrassment, standing out starkly against the ghostly pale skin.

“I appreciate your concern,” He whispered, finding his voice a little easier now, “but I’m not good at projecting my thoughts to more than one person at a time, and my message is for the two of you.”

Neither Arthur or Merlin commented on that, he didn't want to embarrass his guest any further by offering either support or advice. He was an apprentice, he had his master for that. It was not Merlin’s job to assume he had the right to make such comments. Instead he waited quietly, for Mordred to speak. Getting him a glass of water silently from the tap and placing it in front of him to unblock his voice. The glass remained untouched.

“We have a prophecy concerning you,” Merlin had been waiting for this moment since Nimueh had first mentioned it all those years ago, but he was surprised to see that Mordred was not looking at him, but Arthur. “It’s as old as you are, but it has become unclear as to whether you’re ready to hear it yet.”

He turned to Merlin now, as if to consult with him, even though Merlin was the one who had been contemplating a consultation with the druids himself. “Perhaps the two of you are ready to hear it, but my teacher hoped to bring you to our encampment. To teach you some of our ways, and to help you be prepared for what the prophecies foretold.”

“No.” Merlin tried to be direct without seeming harsh, but it was difficult to disguise his vehement hatred for the idea. “Your kind have avoided the ghettos. You hold your own against the onslaught, you even have your own lands still under your own laws. You don’t need help. The cities need help, the ordinary people whose houses and forests aren't penetrated in every corner with the magic of a hundred generations of protection. You’re on your own. I have my place here.”

“I understand. We all have choices to make, you’ve clearly made yours.”

“If you need help, we will give what we can, but you and your people are strong still. You don’t need us.”

“So you say,” Mordred seemed disappointed, but resigned. It was odd in the face of someone so young, as though he was channeling in himself someone much older. Perhaps his teacher had given him a boost of wisdom and courage for this conversation. There were spells, enchantments, charms that could give someone that beyond their years, even if only for a small amount of time. Merlin doubted it though.

Arthur had watched the exchange with fury building behind his eyes. What that fury was directed at, Merlin didn’t want to ask. Arthur had spent his life saying ‘how high’ to a man who was a terrible and ruthless person. Perhaps hearing Merlin talk of Arthur’s own cities and nations in such negative and desolate terms riled him. Even from the first meeting the pride of his position in the world, not as a powerful person to be deferred to, but as a leader and protector of the people. Perhaps he had been taught that he was a protector of the people by heading the KRT and rounding up the people who he had been told his entire life were criminally dangerous, but no matter the situation, Arthur was a protector.

it would be a great blow to his pride to believe that he failed.

To  _ know _ that he had failed.

“The prophecy that I may still share with you pertains to you alone, your majesty. The Once and Future King of Albion.”

Merlin froze, then turned to Arthur wide eyed. There was nothing on Arthur’s face to show he understood the significance of those words, all of them or any of them, but Merlin knew. Merlin trembled in awe at the mere suggestion that Mordred might just be right. He almost felt tears welling in his eyes at the thought of it. Nimueh had spoken of it, even Gaius had spoken of it at one time or another, and yet, despite all the destiny that everyone had hinted at involving him, he never thought that he might even potentially lived to see the day.

He hoped that Modread had not misspoke. He equally couldn’t understand how it could be possibly true.

“So what is this prophecy?” Arthur asked, simply staring back at Merlin with some bemusement, if not a little humour at his reaction.

To him they were merely words. Nonsense words at that, he couldn't know that they possibly meant more. They possibly meant  _ everything. _ They held the potential for everything that he hoped he had seen in Arthur the moment their hands touched, and everything that he had not seen brought to fruition yet. It was like trying to see the mighty oak that might form from the formless pilot leaves that poked from the ground. Yes, perhaps to the druids, their shape was as clear as day, but Merlin had no proof apart from their certainty.  _ He _ could only hope.

“No.”  Mordred spoke, assessing them both, “But I can tell you the other. There is one that involves the both of you.”

Arthur made a little abortive open palmed gesture with his hand as if to say, ‘continue then’, but then thought better of it. He was no commander here, no matter what Mordred's words had been - not that Arthur had seemed to understand them anyway. However, Mordred took the polite request for what it was and, with eyes that began to glow gold, he spoke in a voice that was not entirely his own.

“The golden prince shall rise, and Emrys will lead him to his victory. Two sides of the same coin, they will rise and fall together. Their lives will not be theirs alone, nor their destinies. Albion awaits.”

This was prophecy, no doubt, and there it was again. That word that had Merlin’s heart pounding in his chest. And yet Arthur still did not understand, and every second that bond Merlin had felt between them was growing more and more solidified. He didn’t need to ask why he was here now, his questions didn’t need answering. This was destiny. There was no doubt. 

He felt it in every corner of his body, and he looked inward to wonder how on earth he could have thought that it was anything but the path he was supposed to take, how mere moments ago that hope could have seemed so misplaced. Arthur was unformed, but he wouldn’t remain that way. If what was said was true…

~*~

Arthur though that the words that were spoken seemed odd and flowery. Though that didn’t mean much; in general Mordred had spoken like a child out of time (possibly living in an ancient forest did that to people) but it was Merlin’s reaction that had intrigued him. Except for their small midnight moments, these days and weeks with Merlin had been mostly stoic and silent. Only the small breaks showed anything of the boy behind the mask. 

His face had held some glimmer of shock and surprise, and perhaps Arthur had only imagined it, but he couldn’t help but feel as though Merlin had looked at him with something like wonder. That face, unguarded and almost innocent in its expression made something twist deep within Arthur. Whatever it was that made Merlin look at him like that, he wanted to live up to it. He wanted that face to appear every day and never fall either into the cold mask of indifference that he used as a barrier, or the cruel and malicious bitterness that he had shown Arthur on his arrival at this house. Merlin was a soldier, and would continue to act like one, but if Arthur could give him a reason to be something else, even briefly…. He would do whatever it took to achieve that. There was sheer beauty in that expression.

He had felt it all the way to his soul. He had felt the same those weeks ago when Merlin had been so catatonic in his grief that he had all but reverted to a child. He felt the same as the words were spoken by Mordred. Perhaps he didn’t understand them, perhaps he couldn’t, or perhaps he had simply been trained too hard to dismiss the words of prophecy ass a foul and corrupting magic to take them at face value, but Merlin had believed in them and he had  _ felt  _ it. That belief went beyond mere words. It went to his very core. He had to be all that Merlin believed him to be.

He looked at Merlin from the corner of his eye, until Merlin could realise that Arthur could see him and glanced away.

“Will I ever know the other prophecy?” Arthur asked, wondering why he was so desperate to hear it. Perhaps that was another side effect of Mordred being able to speak to his mind, but he somehow knew that those words that had yet to be spoken would be just as important to him as the words that had been said aloud had been to Merlin.

“Maybe, one day.” Mordred admitted, “But today won’t be that day, I feel it, and I think you feel it too. These words are too strong, too powerful for you right now. If you heard them, then you might change them and what they will do. I don’t want to be the one responsible for making that happen.”

He looked over at Merlin for some hint that he knew what those words were, and perhaps he did, but Merlin, firmly looking in front of him having been caught staring in wonder at Arthur, belied no more of his feeling. He had reverted to the porcelain mask that he effected, staring a hole in the wall as if it was the most interesting thing that had ever been created. He seemed even to refuse to look at Mordred lest looking at him encouraged him to speak into the other’s mind.

“I thank you for your kindness in sharing this with us.” Merlin spoke stiffly, and Mordred seemed almost amused. A childish and happy smile caught his face just for a moment before losing itself again to the blank expression that he wore.

Arthur jumped as the door opened. Though Merlin, either through some power of his own or simply because he had been concentrating so hard on the wall barely moved.

Nimueh and another man, Arthur assumed that this much be the master or teacher, Cerdan, entered the room and  shook hands with one another in a fashion that seemed uncomfortable for both of them. The little Merlin had spoken of about the druids and the old religion made it seem as though they were offshoots of the same belief system that had grown and changed in vastly different ways. Perhaps to default to any religious or magical method of farewell before departing would give unwanted priority over one kind or the other. He may not have excelled in diplomacy, but he knew it when it saw it.

Mordred looked, blank as ever, towards Cerdan, and a thousand words seemed to pass between them. Perhaps they did, Arthur would never know, but whatever Cerdan heard, he seemed satisfied. He gently patted Mordred on the shoulder, who then stood straight to follow the other out of the room,he paused only to look behind him at the threshold and smile silently to Merlin and Arthur.

“Merlin,” Nimueh called once their guests had left, “I need to talk to you,” She slammed the door behind her.

Arthur was dismissed to the other side of a locked door, where he sat unable to hear through the eerie silence of the locked room, waiting for Merlin to return and reflecting on everything that had been said.

~*~

Nimueh looked tired. In as much as she ever did; she never looked anything other than perfectly beautiful and made up, but a good majority of that came from a liberal application of magic. There was always an age, wisdom or tiredness behind the eyes that she couldn’t hide for very long. On days like this where her control over the destiny of her group and her people was beyond her grasp, even the strongest magics couldn’t mask her exhaustion.  This was compounded by the interactions with the druids, the only way she could work with them was to show every inch of herself as honestly as she could. For a person who spent her life behind a mask, it was not an easy thing.

“You seem troubled.” She said, it was calm, but there was no disguising that this was a question that required a satisfactory answer.

“I’m not sure if it’s  _ troubled  _ or just a bit confused to he honest _. _ ”

Nimueh raised her eyebrow, it was suddenly easy enough to see Nimueh and gaius as contemporaries rather than several generations apart. “Something the druid boy said?”

“Yes,” Merlin knew that his job was to report what had gone on with Mordred and Arthur, but there was a large and not inconsequential part of him that said honesty was a bad idea. There was something about Mordred's message that was making him question whether it was his right to pass it on, or whether it had been for Arthur and his ears’ only.

“Go on,” Nimueh tapped her fingers against the table patience wearing thinner by the second. “anything that might serve the slightest bit of use to the cause is of the utmost importance.”

“He addressed Arthur as the once and future king, and then said that Emry’s fate was tied with Albion’s.”

Nimueh’s mouth opened gasping for the words that would make sense of what she had just been told. “He said those exact words?” She asked again, “He specifically said ‘once and future king’? He mentioned Albion?”

“Yes, yes and yes.” That hadn’t been the whole story, but he figured that Nimueh would be occupied enough with the broad strokes he painted, that he wouldn’t need to relay the minutia. He hoped that those details might be enough to treat Arthur with some protective urge just as she had Merlin on meeting him, but instead of the reaction he expected, her almost porcelain face took on a tinge of red, something that was as rare as an eclipse taking over Nimueh’s face.

“Well he must have been wrong.” Nimueh, protested loudly. “there is no way that a Pendragon would do anything but cause the destruction of everything that is good and pure in this world. Look what they have done to Camelot. No, the boy must have not known what he was talking about. Your fate with Albion I might believe. One would assume as much just by looking at you, but the welp. No. Not at all, there’s definitely been a mistake.”

Merlin bit his tongue, and decided not to call upon Nimueh’s hypocrisy. She had always said that the prophecy of child druids was more revered than anyone else, because they were not so clouded by years of prejudice and societal expectations that their words tended to be true and unfettered. The ultimate truth lay in the simplicity and honesty of their unblemished hearts. That was why mad men had historically made such revered seers. But Nimueh had her own ideas of the future and what the long standing visions of the druids had meant. And she would not change them for anyone, especially not from information that had been fed second or third hand to her by a child who hadn’t earned the right yet to take up the cause.

To Nimueh, if a person had not suffered for the cause as she had suffered, as Merlin and Gwen and Edwin had suffered, then they were not entitled to an opinion about the course of the cause. They could offer assistance, but it would only be accepted if it was silent. People like Gaius, and people like the simple and sheltered druid children of the north couldn’t possibly know what they were talking about. They hadn't seen what she had seen.

Merlin had always believed her on that front. Perhaps he would always agree to some extent, but another part of him thought that perhaps the outside influence and opinion of someone not so blinkered by their absolute absorption of themselves into the cause, might let them see where the cracks truly lay.

Merlin, of course, would say absolutely none of this. He would wait for Nimueh to wear herself out in her rant and then let her tell him whatever it was that she had really needed him to know. She had called him to this room, a magically silenced door away from Arthur, for a reason.  He didn’t have to wait long.

“Anyway,” Nimueh said, sitting herself down quietly as if her anger had never been raised. Her face was now completely composed, not a single hair was out of place. “Cerdan will be taking Mordred and heading out back to their lands, I need to go with them. He didn’t ask it of me, but I got the impression that in order to secure our continued bonds of friendship between our peoples he wants help performing the last rites for those who had been lost in order for freedom to prevail. I think it’s only right that I go, as a priestess, I am still a holder of the rites of the dead. You are not to leave the house ‘til I return.”

“Where would I go?” Merlin asked softly. With Arthur permanently attached to him he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

She gave him a sharp glare, “Do not be glib with me. I mean it, Merlin. Now more than ever as we have confirmation of you place in Albion, you need to stay safe. Yes you can get some planning done, you can listen to the news feed, but whatever you hear, whatever happens do not leave. Unless you are one hundred percent certain that the safehouse is compromised,  _ do not leave. _ Do you understand me Merlin?”

“But you only just got back. Wouldn’t it be better if I went with you? I could talk to the druids maybe, get their confirmation on everything that Mordred told me. Maybe they can share more details of what they meant? Or maybe if they really do think of me as Emrys, my presence will go some way to convince them that what we did was for the best.”

“What we did  _ was _ for the best.” Nimueh emphasised.

“Yes,  _ I _ know that, but the whole point is that the druids don't know it, not fully anyway, otherwise you wouldn’t think it so vital to leave when you’ve already had to lie low for so long.

“Oh, you’re such a good boy Merlin, so full of fire and justice, but you can wait. You already said it yourself, you’re not going anywhere. Not with the Pendragon problem. So you’re just going to have to stay here and hold down the fort. We need someone here ready to protect and defend the safe house anyway. This place is of vital importance. I’m sure Gwen could fight admirably given the chance, but there would be no way of protecting this place from anything akin to a large scale or magical attack. It would be much better for everyone if you stay here for now.”

The ‘Pendragon problem’ was certainly an evocative turn of phrase. It could have easily described Arthur, or his tyrannical father, or just what the two of them represented in combination. Whichever Nimueh really meant, the outcome was the same.

“I’ll be back soon my dear. I’ll try to let you know when I’m returning as soon as I establish how much work needs to be done with the druids, but I doubt I’ll be more than three days. The new moon is then and the druids are quite particular about their lunar cycles and last rites.”

With that Nimueh was gone in the blink of an eye. He suspected that she was still in the room, translation of the kind that would allow her to enter the druid strongholds unaided would be far too big a drain on her energies if she also needed to assist with the important ceremonial rites of who knew how many druids. Merlin prayed that it wasn’t too many; that Uther’s relentless campaign of hatred hadn’t pushed that far into the north, but one could never be sure. He hoped that the only druids that would have found themselves in the institutions were only those who had ventured into the towns and had been unlucky enough to find themselves in the path of a KRT patrol.

He hoped.

That hope was probably unfounded.

~*~

Merlin returned too quickly and easily to the routine that he and Arthur had established whilst working out their bond in the week of Nimueh’s absence. It was so calm and so familiar by this point that he hadn't even realised how quiet and withdrawn Arthur was being at the table whilst Merlin magically updated maps of the city. Uthur’s paranoia meant that there were constantly paths he could feel were being changed or cut off or built. It was hard to pick individual people and see where they went, or who they were, but he could feel the crowds and where they could go and not go it told him a lot about the lay of the land.

Arthur coughed to himself and Merlin originally don’t deign to look up from the map, whatever was ailing Arthur probably wouldn’t be anything of real consequence, but then it happened again, and there was a small sound of. ‘Mer..’ before Arthur cut himself off.

Curiosity pushed through whatever connection it was the two of them shared, and as he had already explained the mapping system he had organised previously, he knew it had to be something knew.

Instead of speaking, words were sometimes offputting, He looked up at Arthur expectantly and stared until Arthur decided it would be worth trying again.

“Mordred,” Arthur began, “The boy that we saw earlier today?”

“I think I might possibly know who you were talking about, yes.” Sarcasm dripped off every word.

“Right, well he talked about something and then you completely panicked.” Arthur breezed on, “I just wanted to know what that was.  _ Why _ that was. What did he say that was so important?”

“I didn’t panic.” Merlin defended.

“Maybe not on the outside, but you definitely,  _ definitely  _ panicked. I could… I don’t know, feel it I suppose. It was deeply ingrained, as though something that you heard was a long time coming. You also looked almost… impressed. It was a  _ good _ panic if it can be said that there is such a thing.”

“Anything in particular you’d like to know?” Merlin was weary as soon as he even asked the question, he wasn’t ready to admit what it all might mean. But Arthur would have to know, whether it was true or not the very idea of it would change everything about how everyone approached them and planned around them. Even though he himself had admitted he couldn't leave the house with Arthur in tow, he knew now that the emphasis on why had changed. There was the minute but important shift in how Nimueh had treated him; he hadn’t been asked to stay behind because it was really the best thing to do, the safehouse had been left empty multiple times before, but this time she had used that excuse to tether him to the place. Merlin was the one who had to be protected this time.

It was no longer about the cause, it was about some undeterminable  _ destiny _ and he didn’t like it. What good was destiny if he didn’t know what on earth he was supposed to do with it?

“Everything, I suppose.” Arthur answered “The strange phrases that you were using that seemed important, Emrus, Albion, once and future king did he call me? It’s all very strange, but it clearly means something to you.”

“It’s Emrys, and I don’t know honestly how much of that I could even attempt to explain to you. The name’s just what Nimueh has called me from time to time because this Emrys bloke is supposed to be some part of the grand unified prophecy, or something. Apparently, Mordred thinks so too, but aside from that, I have no idea what it might mean.”

He sighed, and Arthur for his part looked distinctly put off. Knowing prophecies were important and held in high regard my magicians was one thing, but when he had been told his entire life that they were probably the work of the devil designed to corrupt and betray. When Macbeth was taught in schools not as warning against the folly of man, but the evil of magicians and witches, Merlin could hardly blame him. Except, all those times that Merlin  _ had _ blamed him entirely. But that was a different matter.

“As for the rest, are you sure you want to know? Knowing too much can be a terrible burden.”

These were not his own words, but ones that had been relayed to him by Gaius at one time or another. He didn’t see the old man very often, the man wasn’t about to risk his position to spend time dwelling amongst guerrilla magicians, but it meant that every word Gaius had a chance to utter to him seemed important, perhaps more important than it was. After how important could the words of an old fool who had turned against his own people to maintain his leverage in the house of lords be?

There was no love lost between him and Nimueh, and therefore Merlin didn’t look all that kindly on him either. If he was being honest with himself though, he did sometimes wonder what might have happened if the KRT hadn’t raided Gaius’s home. Would he have still found the cause, or would he have found a different path?

Maybe that was all part of destiny. It didn’t matter where he started, all roads led to the appointed end.

“No, I’m not sure that I want to know, but I already know more that I should probably know, and I know things about you, and about the people who suffer in my cities than I perhaps every wanted to know as well. But that doesn't mean that I shouldn’t have known. It was my duty to know. By knowing I have the opportunity to meet whatever it is head on. Don't’ you think?”

Merlin almost shrunk back in embarrassment, he had tried to give Arthur sound advice, to pretend to be wise and give him and easy out (although Merlin may have mostly been protecting himself) but now he felt almost chastised by thoe words. They were words that showed a true sense of justice and responsibility beyond idealistic and righteous anger. It called everyone to find the truth and act on that instead. He didn’t think that a few years could make such a difference in the wisdom of and individual, but that little time between them might have been the one thing that made all the difference.

“Albion is…” Merlin pondered for a moment, “Albion is hard to put into words. It is the culmination of the best parts of our culture, it’s a unification of all people and all places in peace and prosperity. It’s the promised land that rises from the ashes of everything that has been burned here. It’s a utopia, without all of the removal of personality that often goes with a utopian ideals. Mostly it’s a catch all phrase for the time that Magic and those who practice it’s arts will be free to be themselves again. When you hear someone talk of Albion you hear them talk of freedom, of free will and peace.”

Arthur seemed a little shocked or perhaps put off, but that didn’t stop him enquiring, “And the rest?”

“I supposed that’s just another transmuted phrase as well, but the Once and Future King is the herald of Albion. By his or her actions Albion will be formed and the darkness that has risen over the land will be struck down. Something like that anyway. The basic principle is that such a person would be so vital, so important that even if they died their soul would live on, possibly being transferred to another person, or perhaps just tethered to the earth, who knows, just to make sure that whatever else happened, Albion would live on in its purest and most perfect form.” Merlin trailed off from his more heightened ramblings, “Or, you know, something like that.”

Arthur was silent again for  few moments more, before breathing deep and speaking, “Let me see if I can set this straight in my head. According to what the Mordred boy said, this Emrys character will help this eternal king character to build this utopian Albion place. And that according to current Prophetical theory, those two leaders of this revolution in the land are you and  _ me _ .”

“That’s the gist of it yes, maybe I didn’t need so many words to explain it after all.” He tried to laugh, but it didn’t come out right, so he let it die in his throat.

“I’m sure there must be a mistake, When it comes to your sort of world I’m really not sure of anything Merlin, but of this I feel certain someone somewhere has their divine wires of sonnet spouting crossed.”

“Prophecies are surprisingly not that often repeated in sonnets. Very little rhyming all told, quite disappointing. I should talk to the druids on this matter and get them to fix this egregious problem.” He sighed, dropping his poor attempt at humour, “I know; that’s what Nimueh thinks to.”

“Then she’s probably right, she’s supposed to know the most of anyone here isn’t she?” Merlin was surprised to hear Arthur even vaguely agree with Nimueh, she hadn’t been his most vocal supporter, and he had been visibly terrified of her in turn, but he supposed that was what they all did upon hearing a prophecy. Deny it was real. The idea that the path was set out for them already, possibly since birth and there was nothing that any of them could do about it, was terrifying and soul-crushing and oddly humiliating. Other people were allowed to live their lives and they chose (well with in the certain limits of decisions that were allowed by Uther and his ruthless KRT) but Merlin seemed to be set on a path where it was possible not just for him to choose wrong, but to choose so wrongly that the fate of the entire world rested on them.

Most people who had the fate of the world resting on their shoulders, on the minor decisions that they had made in a split second, generally didn’t know that they had been forced to make that decision until after the fact. Knowing it before it even had a chance to start was horrifying.

“Perhaps.” Merlin acquiesced. He hoped so too, even as he equally hoped that it was true.. He wasn’t certain what he believed to be true either way.

That was a lie. He knew exactly what he believed, but the people who he could share his belief with had both desperately and vehemently rejected it because it was beyond the scope of what they had wanted for themselves and their people.

“You don’t think so,” Arthur was easily able to pick up,

“I didn’t say anything,” Merlin half heartedly protested, although there was little point to that.

“You didn’t have to, it’s written all over your face.”

“I also think that it doesn’t really matter what I think, it won’t change what will or won’t be, we will just have to wait it out and see what happens.

“Well, if it  _ is _ real, then I want you to know that I’m glad that it’s you. Whatever that means. whatever that entails, I would prefer it to be you than to be anyone else.”

Merlin loved him for his honesty, and he hated him for saying it aloud, because it made him admit just how much love for Arthur there might be simmering below the surface.

~*~

Arthur felt those fingers brush his skin in a way that made every cell within him spark. He knew already that this bond between them, whatever it was, had made Merlin precious to him from the moment they had first touched, (or at least, Arthur admitted, the moment Merlin had stopped killing him,). Even though they had been sharing a bed for days, weeks now, it felt as weighty as it ever had. Arthur thought they had been working together so closely and so intimately that he could learn to studiously ignoring that feeling that bolted through them every time they touched, that eventually it would just be a fact of life, as inevitable as the need to breathe,

But now there was no denying -with Merlin’s thumbs brushing against his cheek bones, palms placed gently along his jawline - that this feeling was real and deep and completely addictive, it was stupid to lose himself in the feel of that touch, let alone to return it. That didn’t stop him from trailing the tip of his index finger along the nape of Merlins neck, tracing a path down to his shoulder, across to his collarbone. watching Merlin twitch and shiver with every millimeter covered. This was a bad idea. A bad, bad idea.

They were rebels, fighting against the established world order. Arthur originally had stood himself apart from all Merlin had done, all that Nimueh and the order had done, but in the things that Merlin had spoken about today, of Albion and freedom and the right to live as one could in peace made Arthur believe. Arthur believed in all those things. He believed in achieving those goals sooner rather than later, so maybe this was a bad idea, but Merlin was a magic user. All of this was a bad idea full stop.

But destiny had no time for silly little concepts of ‘good idea’ and ‘bad idea’.

Whatever destiny had in mind, it generated this feeling between them. Perhaps simply it wanted that the two of them wouldn’t see fit to separate from each other at a moment's notice, or perhaps simply to understand that the two of them had to work together, but Arthur doubted that destiny (and it made him a little uneasy to think of it as a conscious and cognisant thing) had  _ this _ particular side effect in mind.

Merlin was the one to close the gap between them, to bridge that space between idle thought and full action. Arthur simply felt that it was right. It was right for both for them to be this way, but also for Merlin to initiate it, despite everything and every power that Merlin possessed. If it was  _ true _ , if Arthur was to be this _ Once and Future King _ , he understood, perhaps more than he would like, that it would give him the position of ultimate power. He wanted for Merlin to take this, to want this for himself, because if Arthur started anything between them he would never be able to shake that feeling that it came from a misplaced sense of loyalty or duty.

Maybe it did anyway, but he wanted good reason to believe that Merlin felt the same way about him as he had inexplicably and suddenly began to feel about Merlin.

The kiss wasn’t chaste but it also wasn’t sudden or full of burning fiery passion. It was powerful and slow and insistant, the feeling of falling into something before you even really understood what it was that was happening. Maybe that encapsulated their relationship than anything else; unexpected but inevitable.

But there was no more time to ponder on how the small moments might reflect their whole relationship. Those lips pressed insistently against his, were moving, as were fingers in hair and legs twisting around each other. The feeling of Merlin hard against his hipbone was little more than a mildly unexpected sensation. After all, the two of them were still teenagers, if anything should have been inevitable it should have been this.

So close together, and for the first time in forever Arthur realised how isolated he was, how free from society and restraint. He had never been allowed such indiscretions before, he had never let himself think about it because of the pressure it might place on someone who he would potentially care deeply about.

But all of that was lost now, they existed in a world of simply feeling. The feeling of rubbing himself on the soft worn cotton of Merlin’s thigh, of hot hands on hotter skin, of desperately chasing something glowing warm and comfortable in the pit of his stomach. When he came in his underwear, like the teenager that he still was, he couldn’t even bring himself to be ashamed. After all that had come between the two of them, if there was anything left to be ashamed of, this would definitely not be it.

~*~

“I believe it.” Merlin said, after they had curled up and tried to get to sleep. He whispered The word into Arthur’s chest, hardly able to be heard, and yet it was as though he knew he had to share them.

Arthur didn’t speak, but pulled back to look into Merlin’s eyes, questioning. 

“You asked me before, about Albion, about you and about me. I believe it. I don’t know why I believe it, but it’s not just because of the Druids or the prophecy. I think there’s something else that’s making me feel this way. We are connected, we must have been connected for a long time but just had no way of knowing. I feel like this link is permanent and old.”

Arthur didn’t know what to say to that, he agreed wholeheartedly, but they weren’t exactly in a healthy, or even remotely normal situation, or frankly a normal or healthy relationship. One didn’t easily build a strong bond of love and mutual affection when both parties were involuntarily bonded to one another, especially when the sparse few weeks of knowing one another started in a mixture of torture and recovery. The following weeks were full of attacks on the city.

Not the best basis for what seemed like the worlds most important and life long commitment. The commitment to the prophecy and to destiny was more important than any potential romantic inklings the two of  them might have had towards each other, but Arthur couldn’t deny either, that any feelings that Arthur might have had for Merlin under normal circumstances were both heightened and torn to shreds by the intensity of their situation, and the intensity of their potential power over one another.

Merlin had his magic and the ability to stop Arthur’s heart with a single thought, Arthur had more inside knowledge on the number one undesirables in the country than Uther’s entire network, and could bring down the wrath of the entire KRT on this operation with a single word. They could have been in the city’s most devastating nuclear arms race, but this connection, this magic that had called the two of them to listen and pay attention every single time that they touched. That had left both of them to push the terror they could wrought  to one side and just collapse into something akin to love.

“I don’t think I would have chosen this.” Arthur admitted to himself that Merlin was probably right, he felt like Merlin was right,

“Trust me, neither would I. But if I am to be a part of that machine, then for some reason I agree with what you said earlier; there would be no one better to fight with than you. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you, for this sense of destiny to be fulfilled my entire life.”

And that was true too, it had nothing to do with any physical or emotional relationship, but instead one of honour and duty and destiny. It was the future of the entire nation resting on the two of them, and if Arthur had to do it, then it felt right.

“Do you really believe that hard?” Arthur had to question, it wasn’t something he could throw himself into unless he was certan, without a shadow of a doubt that the two of them would and could work together towards their final end. They couldn’t have opposite motives and goals. And considering the worlds they had both haled from, that would be almost impossible.

Merlin paused for a moment, looking Arthur deep in the eyes willing him to understand something that Arthur couldn’t put into words. It was only after Merlin was met with silence that he got out of his bed and onto one knee, bowing his head and placing his right hand solemnly on his chest.

“A bit early for a proposal of marriage,” He joked, though deep inside him he knew that it simply wasn’t the case. This was something even more serious and deeply ingrained in the very nature of their beings.

“Prince Arthur Pendragon, I hereby take this most solemn oath, to pledge to you my unwavering fealty as long as I am able to serve you, for as long as it takes for us to see Albion brought to these lands. I swear it by the thing that I hold most dear.”

Arthur sat up at that, blanket pooling around him. He could feel it in every corner of the room, he swore he could feeling it crawling up the walls, filling the air, pressing on him from all sides and locking itself to his very being.

“Fealty? What the buggering hell is happening Merlin? What the fuck does that even mean in this context?”

Something between them, perhaps the same feeling as had strung them together before, but this time even more so, thrummed to life. This time there was no contact with Merlin required. It was permanent, and could be reached into. Arthur could  _ feel _ every inch of Merlin’s being down to the very core of magic that made up the heart of himself. 

“Merlin, what did you do? What did that mean?”

“That means that I am at your disposal, whatever the cost.”

Arthur could feel it now, Merlin had given him a sacred promise that he would help fight to build Albion. He had given Arthur the right to command the world's greatest power. 

He had sworn on magic itself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... How are you all doing?
> 
> It's been a year. A full year and 5 days.
> 
> I've had this chapter fully written for 6 months.
> 
> I don't know why I'm like this. I'm using camp nanowrimo to finish this story so I can get the chapters out quicker, but considering this chapter pulled in at 14,000 words, I'm not sure that'll be enough. I don't promise anything. My promises are meaningless. It will be finished, that's all I can say.
> 
> My chapters are also of a vary variable length. I might need to fix that somehow.


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